Ruckus in the West Country
by DeBarkley
Summary: Following on from 'The Order of the Pheonix', 'The Ruckus in the West Country' tells the tale of events, which transpire prior to Dumbledore collecting Harry from Number 4 Privet Drive at the beginning of 'The Half Blood Prince'.
1. Chapter 1 Spies on the Bridge

**-**** CHAPTER ONE -**

_**Spies on the Bridge**_

It had been weeks since the break in at the Ministry of Magic, where Harry Potter and his friends had narrowly escaped death, at the hands of Lord Voldermort and his followers. The Dark Lord had been prevented from obtaining the orb, which contained a vital prophecy. Many of the Death Eaters, who had escaped Akzaban, had been recaptured, yet the victory had tasted anything but sweet.

In houses all around the country, witches and wizards had woken to the horrifying news of the break in, and with heavy hearts, had all been finally forced to except the unbearable truth, that the Dark Lord had returned.

An unnatural chill and constricting bleakness had now settled upon the land. Every darkened alleyway and corner was now filled, with the low rumbling of hushed whispers. Rumors now spread like choking vines, about the Dark Lord; his ill deeds, and his army, which reported swelled further each day. Hushed voices spoke in low tones, not just of Death Eaters and Dark Wizards, but of other dark and sinister creatures.

The news in the papers was just as bleak. The Daily Prophet had been awash with report after report, about the Ministry's numerous bumbling errors. Each article making the Ministry look increasing weak and ill prepared, to face the danger that now threatened to come.

In their streets and homes, the people of the land wrestled with thoughts of what had happened the last time Voldermort had gained such power. The Dark Lord had looked poised to succeed in driving the wizarding community into submission. Yet they had all been spared this crushing catastrophe, because of _the boy who lived_. Few in their joy at the time, had stopped to question what had happened, but now many gave the matter great thought. Whist Harry Potter had succeeded in thwarting The Dark Lords plans at the Ministry, few drew strength from such knowledge. To many Harry was still just a boy. A boy possessed with some form of inhuman luck, or protected but some special spell. But surely The Dark Lord would not make the same mistake twice, what luck or spell could hope to prevail against the greatest dark wizard, the world had ever seen.

In the towns and villages across the land, those responsible for the protection and safety of others, rushed from place to place hurriedly making plans, preparing defenses and hoping beyond hope, that their hard work would be enough keep Voldermort and the Death Eaters from their doors.

In no place was this more the case than in the Stretton Vale. An ancient collection of hill lined valleys that housed the largest gathering of witch and wizard filled villages in the country. Their tiny settlements, which had existed since Roman times, were so old that they still retained their own protectors and sheriffs, know as the Harpers. It was these unlucky souls, who now found it their task to ensure the safety of those who dwelled within the valley, during these dark times.

*

The first hint of morning light crept through the icy darkness, painting the sky in dark shades of crimson and purple. As high in the sky, barely visible against the dark canopy of the heavens, a solitary crow circled ominously.

The bleak bird, with its chipped and scarred beak, completed its slow decent and slipped unseen into the concealing branches of a tall tree, at the furthest end of a large garden, which overlooked a solitary house.

The house, at which the beady eyed bird stared so intently, was some what unusually by Muggle standards; it was encased in flowers and bushy vines, which climbed timber lattices that hugged almost all of the white painted walls. Whilst beneath a snug thatched roof, sleepy windows peeped out cautiously through frilly white curtains, into a sprawling garden where dimly lit lanterns hung from trees, casting ghostly shadows in the remnants of the night air.

Assailed by the unnatural gloom and chill, which had plagued the valley since the Dark Lords return, the house looked most out of place. In happier times, the cozy home could easily have been mistaken, for one of those idyllic houses you often saw in oil paintings, or on snowy white Christmas cards. Yet since word of The Dark Lords return had spread, life in this part of the world had felt increasingly less idyllic.

As the ominous bird continued to watch from its sheltered perch, it tilted its head suddenly at the sound of a faint pop. Just outside the garden, in a small clearing surrounded by pale white stones, a man had just appeared. He was crouched as if inspecting one of the pale stones, and was wearing what looked like a leaf covered cloak. No sooner had the man appeared, than he rose to his feet and started to stride purposefully across the tiny clearing. He passed over a small arched foot bridge and into the long garden of the house beyond. A snow white dog jogged behind him, matching the man's pace and stride with almost military precisions. As he hastened down the garden, the man cast back his hood and glanced around furtively. His dirty blonde shoulder length hair, brushing against the leafy scales of his cloak, as his rugged unshaven features momentarily illuminated, by the dull glow of the tiny lanterns hanging in the trees.

Inside the house, the owner of Lavender Cottage, Roderek Dobson, stood leaning against the kitchen sink, casually stirring his morning tea. The vague scent of pumpkin and primrose prickled the air, as he stood warming himself next to a large iron stove topped with cauldrons.

He was a tall well built man, with a protruding brow and a calmly confident, almost serene, manner. He stifled a yawn and raised a hand absent mindedly, ruffling it through his short dark hair.

The door of the kitchen suddenly burst inwards, icy darkness spilling into the room as the man in the leaf scaled cloak man swept inside.

"Have you seen it?" snapped the cloaked man urgently,

Roderek raised a calm appraising eyebrow in the man's direction, as he finished sipping from his large pumpkin shaped mug.

"Firstly Rodney" replied Roderek evenly,

"What, are talking about. And secondly I'll thank you to close the door behind you. I'm not trying to heat the entire village you know" the hint of a wry smile spread across Roderek's face, yet it seemed lost to his friend, who turned hastily to close the door.

"Have you seen it?" repeated Rodney insistently as he turned back to face Roderek,

"I'm not skilled in Legilimency Rodney" replied Roderek patiently,

"So kindly explain what are talking about",

"Today's Daily Prophet" blurted Rodney. Hurriedly drawing his copy, from within the folds of his robes. He strode across the kitchen and laid the paper out on the large oak table, as Roderek slipped into one of the chairs to inspect it.

"Look" said Rodney jabbing a finger at a picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

The picture, at which Roderek found himself staring, was something of a rarity for the Daily Prophet, as it was not a picture taken from a wizard's camera. Instead of tiny black and white moving figures, Roderek found himself staring at the countless grainy dots of a Muggle photograph.

At first glance, the picture appeared absurdly strange to Roderek. The Muggle photograph seemed to show an exact moment frozen in time, as if locked there by some spell. The picture itself was of an everyday bridge, teaming with noisy Muggle motor cars, motionless clouds of dirty grey smoke pluming from their exhausts. To the sides of the motor cars, Muggles attired in their outlandish clothing were similarly frozen, caught in usual looking poses as they hurried along the pavements. All in all, the Muggle photograph was a most unnatural looking sight. Yet it was not these images that had suddenly attracted Roderick's frowning stare, for there, in the farthest corner of the photograph, almost obscured by the darkness of the alleyway, stood two ominous shadowy figures. Unlike the Muggles, each figure was dressed in long dark hooded cloaks. Their faces obscured from view, as they gazed between the bridge and a stained piece of parchment, which one of the dark clad figures clutched surreptitiously, in his grimy claw-like hands.

Intrigued Roderek snatched up the newspaper headlined; "Mass Murderers Caught on Muggle Camera?", and flicked hastily from page to page.

Inside the Daily Prophet, were numerous pictures that Roderek had seen in the paper several days earlier. Of a twisted mass of metal and concrete, which was littered with the wreckage of Muggle motor vehicles. Had a person not been paying careful attention, they could have been easily forgiven for not noticing, that the twisted mass of metal and rubble was in fact the same bridge, which Roderek had just been inspecting in the Muggle photograph.

Roderek trawled intently through several more pages. His dark hazel eyes jumping swiftly from line to line, pausing finally to read a new article entitled; "Wizard and Muggle communities, real in the aftermath of the Brockdale Bridge collapse. Hand of the Dark Lord strongly suspected".

"Strongly suspected" scoffed Rodney scornfully, as he peered over Roderek's shoulder.

"I swear Fudge is still manipulating the Daily Prophet" he grumbled.

"I mean, who else does he think he can blame it on Babbity Rabbit, or Fizz Pop Fairy?"

Rodney appeared to be just about to launch into another, of his full blown tirades about the Minister for Magic. When the snow white dog, which had accompanied him in to the house, raised its head sharply, ears pricked. The two men turned, listening instinctively. Sure enough, within moments the sounds of footstep could be heard marching down the gravel path, which lead from the front of the house.

A familiar somewhat squat shadow trumped past the blind covered windows, at the far end of the kitchen, and Rodney let out an audible groan.

"Oh no" moaned Rodney, rolling his eyes to stare the ceiling,

"What does he want at this time of the morning".

The footsteps halted outside the kitchen door, and were followed a few seconds later by the slightest of knocks. Then, without a moments pause for an answer, the door swung open to admit a most unusually dressed visitor.

The new comer to the room was a slightly plump middle aged man. He had long brown hair, almost to his shoulders, yet the top of his head was almost completely bald, bar for a few stray hairs, which had been painstakingly teased over, in an attempt to hide the shinny bald scalp beneath. His eyebrows were immensely bushy and well groomed. As was his neatly trimmed mustache, which bore such a remarkable resemblance to his eye brows, that it looked as if one of them had wandered down his nose to take a drink and just stayed there. There was also remarkably pompous, almost military air about the man. As if he considered himself to be an extremely important person, which any stray person might have believed had it not been for the man's extraordinary choice of clothes. He was wearing what appeared to be, a billowing bright blue smock with shimmering yellow stars, and a pair of incredibly fluffy white slippers. All in all, an outfit that made the man look like an overgrown child.

"Good morning neighbour" crooned the man, in a high pitched nasal tone.

"Don't you knock?" grumbled Rodney grumpily, eyeing the new comer with a look of obvious dislike.

"Of course I knocked" replied the man curtly. Yet he appeared to be pointedly refusing to even look at Rodney. Instead he continued to smile courteously at Roderek.

"Yes well" continued Rodney loudly,

"Normally _civilised_ people wait, until they are asked to enter", Roderek raised an eyebrow and shot a side ways glance a Rodney. In all the years they'd known each other Rodney had never knocked, or waited to enter the Dobson's home. What's more, Roderek couldn't recall Rodney ever knocking at his parent's house when they were boys. But in both cases, Rodney was virtually considered family anyway.

The balding man cocked his nose, obvious stung by Rodney's comment, but continued to gaze at Roderek as if Rodney simply wasn't there.

"I just popped in, to see if there are any developments, as a result of today's news" he droned again in his long nasal tone. Nodding slightly in the direction of the Daily Prophet, that was spread open on the kitchen table in front of Roderek.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you're talking about Pitchford" replied Roderek calmly,

"Yes, what are you talking about Farty?" jibbed Rodney.

"The names, _Flarty_, as well you know" growled Pitchford Flarty angrily through gritted teeth, and fixing Rodney with a particularly contemptuous glare.

"My mistake" coughed Rodney, attempting to suppress a broad boyish grin,

"Slip of the tongue",

Pitchford continued to glare fiercely at Rodney for a moment, and then with a deep composing breath, he re-gathered his overly pompous air of dignity and returned his gaze to Roderek,

"So have you seen today's paper Roderek?" he continued conversationally,

"What, this one right here on the table in plain view" asked Rodney gleefully, as he stirred his tea.

Again, Pitchford's jaw muscles clenched as he attempted to pretend he had not heard Rodney's wisecracking quip, and with a degree of difficultly, continued.

"Have you had a chance to read it yet?" he added,

Roderek opened his mouth to reply, but unfortunately Rodney beat him to the punch.

"No Pitchford, the paper just naturally fell open like that" he replied Rodney sarcastically. It was now obvious from Rodney's uncontrollable boyish grin that he was relishing the opportunity to irate Roderek's gossiping, trouble maker next door neighbour.

"Of course we've read it you berk" he added,

Thinking Rodney's last comment might have crossed the line. Roderek quickly raised a hand, hoping to cut the two men off before a full blown argument ensued. Yet as Pitchford's head jerked sharply to glare at Rodney, instead of fury, there was glint of malicious pleasure in his eyes.

"Really" drawled Pitchford, with an air of smugness.

"Then you shouldn't have too much trouble telling me, what further precautions and defenses the Harpers will be implementing, as a result of what's been reported in today's Daily Prophet". Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Flarty pouted his chest and rocked back and forth on his heels, gazing around the room, his bushy mustache barely hiding his self satisfied grin.

"I only ask, as being a well respected member of this community, people naturally ask me about these things".

"I'm not quite sure I'm with you Pitchford" replied Roderek, placing a hand on Rodney's arm, in an attempt to prevent him from agitating Pitchford further.

"This news about the bridge" continued Roderek,

"It's nothing new. The bridge incident was days ago. Why would we alter the defenses just because of a new picture?"

"That's right" cut in Rodney, shrugging off Roderek's hand and raising an accusing figure at Pitchford.

"Were already patrolling the Vale by night, plus we've put Dwoomer charms and a hurling hex barrier over the whole Vale. Not mention the alarms charms and the fixing of the floos. What more do you want, a personal bodyguard just because of Muggle picture, of a bridge miles away".

"Oh" replied Pitchford pointedly, with an air of overly dramatic false surprise.

"I wasn't referring to the bridge" he added, his bushy mustache twitching again, as it fought to hide another broad self satisfied grin.

"So what are you talking about" asked Roderek politely.

"Page twenty seven", replied Pitchford in a particularly smug voice, rocking back and forth on his heels once more.

Roderek carefully turned the pages of the paper to page twenty seven, as Rodney strode over to gaze over his shoulder.

"Oh no" muttered Rodney,

"I see what you mean" he gasped,

"_Old witch in Kent, discovers ancient recipe for world's thickest gravy_" read Rodney smirking,

"Better call all the troops in on that one. Can't run the risk of that falling into the wrong hands".

"It's further down the page" growled Pitchford,

"Two for one sale on cat hats?" asked Rodney silkily, gazing back up at Pitchford,

"Going to give Mr. Tibbles a treat are you?" Flarty, who had now turned a glowing shade of red, stormed across the room and stabbed an accusing finger at a small article, in the bottom right corner of the page.

"There!" he barked defiantly.

Rodney gazed back down hoping to find something equally pointless to continue ridiculing Flarty over, but what he found soon striped the smile from his face.

The small article, contained breaking news of the gruesome murder of a local wizard, named Nigellus Tyler. Whose house lay less than ten miles away, from where the men currently stood.

"Eviscerated!"

The word echoed around the room, as the two friends stared opened mouthed at the article. Roderek snatched the paper up from the table and began reading the article aloud, in shocked disbelief.

"Final member of the wealthy Tyler family, Nigellus Tyler, was found dead at his family's mansion late yesterday evening, when security alarms on the family's in house vault were set off. Local Aurora's, from the Ministry's facilities in Salop town, arrived on the scene, only to find Tyler's eviscerated body. Ministry officials have refused at this time to make any further comments relating to the crime, and have not even confirmed if Death Eaters were involved".

A long hushed silence filled in the room.

"Is that it?" asked Rodney scowling,

"A man gets eviscerated in his own home, and the paper only gives it a few poxy lines on page twenty seven? And why won't they comment on it being Death Eaters, I mean, it must have been them".

Roderek did not answer, Rodney had a point. So much seemed out of place, yet he dared not say anything in front of the loose lipped Flarty.

Several more long moments past, then the silence of the room was broken by Flarty clearing his throat.

"So then" he asked matter-of-factly,

"Any comments for me to pass to other concerned citizens?"

"None", replied Roderek, hastily rising from his chair and cutting Rodney off, before he could speak.

"Were not elders Pitchford. This is fresh information, and only the Harper elders can order a change in any of our plans". Roderek hastily fastened a leaf scale cloak, similar to Rodney's, around his neck and gave a low shrill whistle. A few seconds later a shaggy thick set, brown dog appeared from the interior of the house.

"Tuck this into your robes Rodney" he muttered quietly, handing The Daily Prophet to Rodney, as he snatching up a small bag from off a nearby cupboard.

Rodney, seeming to have taken some kind of unspoken queue from his friend, tucked the paper inside his robes, and joined Roderek at the door, their two dogs, following close behind.

"We'd best be off to the Harpers Halls" replied Roderek to Flarty's questioning stare. As he opened the door and indicated as politely as possible that it was also time for Flarty to leave.

"But" stammered Flarty,

"And I assure you" added Roderek hastily, sensing Pitchford's next comment.

"That if any extra course of action is necessary, the Harpers will take it. And you will be among the first to know, alright".

"Also" added Roderek, turning back as he a Rodney started up the garden, towards the small clearing of white circled stones.

"I don't want you to mention a word of this to Annie".

"I think your wife has a right to know" replied Flarty shortly,

"No" replied Roderek in a stern and resolute tone, as he paused and fixed Flarty with particularly stern stare.

"She's my wife Pitchford, and she's got enough on her mind right now", Roderek paused, his eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed Pitchford expression, as if trying to discern what he was thinking.

After a several long moments he spoke again, his voice slow and clearly.

"I forbid you, to mention this to her Pitchford. I shall be the one to break any such news to her. Is that clear?".

There was no mistaking the finality in Roderek's tone, and even though the pompous Pitchford Flarty looked taken aback at being _forbidden_, it appeared from his expression that he had no desire to anger Roderek, by ignoring his wishes.

"Very well, as you wish", muttered Pitchford mutedly, and after a moment's pause and a slight nod of his head, he turned and shuffled back up the gravel path to the front gate. As the two men, flanked by their dogs, strode quickly up the garden and into the white stoned grove beyond.

*

Back in the corner of the kitchen, by a warm stove, a tiny baby swathed in blankets stirred. No sooner had the baby's first murmur left his lips than his mother, Annie Dobson, swept into the kitchen. She quieted the tiny woken infant almost instantly, as Annie clad in long velvet robes, stooped to pick up the baby and nurse him. A long stray soft brown hair from her pony tail, tickling the baby's face as she slowly rose, and bore the tiny infant off deeper into the interior of house.

Deep within the heart of the cozy cottage, things were far less apprehensive. The remaining inhabitants of Lavender Cottage had started their daily business, apparently unaware of the serious matters, which had been under discussion in the kitchen, only minutes ago.

The cottages living room was large and long, with giant wooden beams that supported the ceiling. The far wall was completely obscured by shelf after shelf of spell books, which hid every inch of paint and plaster from view. Whilst the long front wall, by comparison, was covered from end to end, by the smiling, waving figures, of countless wizard photographs.

To gaze at the wall, was almost like looking at an entire history of the Dobson family. The furthest end of the room started with photos of Roderek and Annie as children themselves, proceeded by pictures of them from their days at Hogwarts. One picture showed the broadly grinning figures of Roderek and Rodney, proudly sported their Quidditch robes before their first match, as beaters for Griffindor. Whilst in a picture next to it, the trio of Annie, Roderek and Rodney, stood with their arms around each others shoulders, laughing and smiling next to the Hogwarts Express. The boys sporting the colours of Griffindor, and Annie the colours of Hufflepuff.

Despite Lavender Cottage not being his _official_ home, Rodney was as much, a part of daily life, as any other family member. Several pictures above the largest sofa in particular, showed Rodney and Roderek fooling around. In one, the two men laughed as they fooled around in a fishing boat. Whilst in another, the two men jumped and cheered drunkenly at a Quidditch match, their faces daubed in the painted colours of the Womborn Wasps. There was even a picture of Rodney, the proud godfather of all four of the Dobson children, surrounded by the children, who all smiled, laughed and hugged him affectionately, as they all grinned at the camera.

A slight cracking noise broke the serenity of the room. As from the corner, a highly polished wizard wireless finished its haunting melody, and the early morning announcer started giving out tips of the day, for faster growing snaffleroot.

Sat on the largest most comfortable arm chair in the room, the Dobson's eldest daughter, the studious eight year old Isabella, sat cross legged her head flickering between "A History of Magic" and Bodaci Botts "Basic Achedemic Training (BAT's) – The Complete Guide for Young Wizards". On the arm of the chair her cat, the aloof Siamese Prudeta, sat, its head moving in time with her mistresses, as if equally engrossed in reading the same books.

Across the room, a giant set of patio doors were spread open invitingly, to the glowing rays of the early morning sun, as outside the velvet clad Annie Dobson, beavered away in the garden, collecting various pungent smelling herbs and the occasional wiggling plant. As she labored, her second eldest daughter, four year old Lynn, ran in and out of the giant glass doors. Gleefully playing chase with the families youngest dog, stopping only occasionally to tickle her younger sister Lucy, who sat gurgling and grinning at her elder sisters antics, whilst playing with a pile of witches widgets.

Finally, in the corner of the room, next to a warm fire was the new born baby Robert, slept swathed in his blankets.

The haunting melody on the wizard wireless slowly faded, as the host announced that the next piece of music to be played, would be by the "Greater Edgerton Goblin Orchestra",

"Oh not again" chirped Lynn, halting in the doorway and staring at the wireless in horrified disbelief.

"Why do they keep playing that horrible noise" she protested, wrinkling up her nose in disgust.

"It's something to do with expanding our culture limitations" replied Isabella, her head still buried in her books. "Some professor for Goblin rights has been campaigning about it for months".

Annie glanced up as she swatted again at another, particularly pesky gnome.

"Isabella" she called softly,

"Sweetie, how many times have I told not to let that cat of yours get on your father's chair. You know he's allergic to cat hair".

Annie tried to say more, but the sound of her voice was suddenly drowned out by the din of rusty nails being played across broken saws, as the Greater Edgerton Goblin Orchestra began its terrible tune. Despite being shriller than a dozen whaling banshees with toothache, the Goblin music had a meticulous timing and rhythm, which made the awful din almost bearable. Yet Annie Dobson's children seemed suitably less impressed by efforts of, _the finest Goblin orchestra in England_. Lucy, grimacing, mimicked her sister, as Lyn held her hands to her ears, and the families youngest dog Knut, started to howl, surprisingly almost in tune to the Goblin Ballard. Mercifully for Annie, Isabella's cat, Prudeta, streaked from the room, startled by the loud wrenching and whaling of the Goblin band.

With a slight wince, at particularly piercing rusty saw solo, Annie flicked her wand and with a click, the wizard wireless switched to another channel, where a haughty sounding witch was reading the mornings news. Recent, Annie found she could only bring herself to half listen, to the haughty witches droning news reports. Almost every item these days seemed to be bad news, and given recent events, Annie felt like the last thing she wanted to hear was _more_ bad news.

As she half listened as the old witch droned on about the Brockdale bridge collapse, the Azkaban break out and the Ministry of Magic break-in.

"And in more local news" added the haughty witch, in her high authorative tone,

"Local wizard Nigellus Tyler…"

Crack!

Annie turned sharply. Momentarily startled by the sound of something in the nearby hedge, and started to fumble for her wand as she gazed intently at the thick rustling hedge.

"Oi! Watch were your sticking that fing", came a voice, "That branch nearly went right up my…"

Snap!

The hedge suddenly parted, and Annie heaved a sigh of relief, as a small group of large ferret like creatures, which she knew to be Jarveys, came tumbling out from the bushy hedge.

As they struggled to their feet, de-tangling themselves from each other, and stray branches, Annie could see that two of the ferret like Jarveys looked perfectly normal, yet the third was anything but. He was almost twice the size of the others and walked, or rather swaggered, on his rear legs. Bizarrely, he was dressed almost like a Muggle, sporting a pair of sturdy trousers, with bracers, a pristine waste coat, and a neat little bowler hat, which had several gurdy roots tucked into the band.

"Ah, Mornin Mrs. D" announced the Jarvey, tipping his bowler hat, with a courteous little bow.

"Jarvis, your timing's perfect" sighed Annie.

"I don't know where these Gnomes keep coming from, but there ruining my herbs and causing no end of damage to my fire roses and silver bells" she gestured to a large flower bed at the top of the garden, where the red petals of the tall roses glowed like the embers of a dying fire, whilst below fairies flittered around tiny silver tube flowers, which gave off a gentle ringing noise as the swung in the breeze.

"Don't you worry Mrs. D" Drawled the oddly dressed Jarvey, "I'll have a couple of the boys come over and root dem Gnomes out for ya dis afternoon" he added, as he attempted to adjust his oversized trousers. "We'll have you Gnome free again in no time".

"Thanks Jarvis" sighed a clearly relieved Annie, "You're a life saver. I really don't have time to do it myself today. I desperately need to go to the market today. I'm almost out of stock and I need to get something for my mother", as she finished speaking, her voice seemed to tail off, and a saddened expression started to steal over her face. She turned her head slightly and her eyes seemed to glaze over sadly, a slight breeze tugged lightly at her velvety robes, and for a moment it looked as she might be holding back a tear.

"Oh yes" she added quietly, seeming to rouse from her thoughts, "This is yours", she reached inside her robes and pulled out a small smooth skin pouch and handed it to Jarvis, who with a toothy grin pried the bag open with his tiny paws,

"Oh Merlin's charms be upon ya Mrs.D" he coed, "Prompt payment as ever, and I see you've put a little something extra in for me and the boys". He beamed up at Anne, his broad ferret like grin spreading, almost from ear to ear. "You do take such good care of us Mrs.D".

"It's nothing really" replied Annie quietly, smiling faintly.

"Well" replied Jarvis, "Don't you worry about dem dere flower beds. Me and the boys will have you Gnome free before your home from market Mrs.D". He swung the pouch over his back, like a tiny rucksack, and tipped his had graciously as he prepared to depart.

"Mummy," Annie glanced down to see Lynn tugging at her velvety robes, her toddling younger sister Lucy clinging to her arm for support as she gaze doe-eyed up at her.

"Yes, my darling," replied Annie brushing a hand lovingly against the pairs cheeks.

"Did you say you're going to the market today mummy?" enquired Lynn with an agitated look,

"Yes I'm afraid I have to my darling. I'm almost out of certain potion ingredients, and I need to get something for your Nana," Lynn frowned and even the toddling Lucy, looked a little concerned.

"Were not staying at auntie Rosaline's are we?" asked Lynn wistfully, "Only Lizzy likes her, me and Lu think she shouts too much," added Lynn matter-of-factly.

"No my darling, after what happened…" Annie's voice trailed off momentarily, "I mean, your Nana is very busy right now, so auntie Rosaline and I have to do what we can to help her. You'll be staying with Grandma today." The wistful expression on Lynn's face was gone in an instant, replace by a broad grinning smile, which was mirrored by Lucy, who gave a gurgling giggle of approval. Although considered as something of an outsider by most, Roderek's mother, a thoroughly pleasant and smiley old woman, was considered one of the finest potioneers in the Vale, it was however her hobby of sweet making particularly tasty sweets and buns however, which made her such a firm favorite of her grandchildren.

"As a matter of fact," continued Annie, "we'd best start getting ready to go. We've got a busy day ahead of us. Oh and Lynn," added Annie hastily, "please try not to trouble your Grandmother too much, she's very busy making potions for the Harpers at the moment."

"Okie dokie mummy," replied Lynn, who clearly wasn't paying much attention,

"Come on LuLu," she giggled, bundling her younger sister into the house "were going to see Grandma,"

Annie paused as she followed her children into the house, the large patio doors still slightly ajar in her hands, as she gazed out into the garden. Despite the glow of the growing sun marking the first fine day of weather in weeks, she couldn't help but feel uneasy, as if she were being watched. Annie shrugged casting the feelings aside, the weeks of bad news and ill weather were clearly making her paranoid.

High up, in the tall tree at the end of the garden the lone black crow silently watched as Annie close the patio doors, its dark beady eyes following every flicker of movement of the people in the house below.

11


	2. Chapter 2 Presto Market

**- CHAPTER TWO -**

_**Presto Market**_

The sun was slowly rising into a frosty pale blue sky, as morning wore on. The unnatural chill, which had permeated the air for so many weeks, still lingered, but the hazy warmth of the solitary day of good weather, was doing much to weaken the icy chill, which gripped the air.

With many chores for the day ahead, Annie Dobson left the girls in the care of Roderek's mother, and having kissed each tenderly goodbye, she picked up her basket and the sleeping baby Robert, and strode forth into the quiet country lane, leading to the village below.

With the floo network so heavily restricted and apperation to and from the Vale prevented by various alarms, and a particularly nasty hurling hex, Annie had little choice but to use the local port key system.

As she strolled, she adjusted her grip on the sleeping infant, swathed in his mottled grey blanket; and gazed out across the rolling fields of the Stretton Vale, lined with their high hedges and rugged stone walls. The occasional tree or wisp of cloud protruded upon an otherwise unblemished skyline, as she soaked up as much of the view as she could whilst she walked.

The stroll down the bank from Roderek's mothers, was shorter than she would have liked and within a few brief minutes, the tall bushy hedges and pale stonewalls, gave way to reveal a small crossing in the road ahead. At the corner, in a patch of unkempt grass, stood a tall black and white pole, with what appeared to be a carving of a large wooden crow at the top. The crow had numerous strangely shaped wings, each displaying the name, direction and distance, to several different villages in the nearby wizarding community.

As Annie drew closer to the corner, the burly wooden bird seemed to turn its head slightly, as if watching her approached.

"Morning Mrs. Dobson." came a screech that appeared to emanate from the bird. "Beautiful day isn't it." The carved wooden eyes of the bird, now visible for the first time, seemed to blink at the pale frosty blue sky.

"Yes. It is isn't it" replied Annie politely. Stopping to gaze with the bird at the clear sky. "Much happening?" she asked conversationally.

"Quiet night." squawked the sign, in its eerie echoing tone. "Nothing to report to the Harpers this morning, just a couple of Muggles in a bright red Muggle-mobile."

"Really?" replied Annie in surprise. "Muggles out and about around at night, despite the Dawoomers?" she stared interestedly at the large wooden bird, who nodded its stout wooded head silently. "Well I hope you didn't send this group of Muggles up onto the Mynd, like the last lot." Continued Annie, eyeing the bird with a mixture of wry amusement and concern.

"The last lot you sent up there, got lost near that Bixie bog and got bitten something terrible. You caused the Harpers a lot of work, clearing that up with the Ministry." The air surrounding them became filled with an uncomfortably shrill screeching sound, which must have been the wooden crow laughing. The noise cut through the air so sharply, that Annie winced slightly at the pitch of the strange sound.

"I know Muggles," croaked the sign gleefully. "And those young ones were up to no good." The sign flap its numerous wings happily, even though it obviously couldn't fly. "The Mynd was the best place for them. They won't be back here in a hurry." it squawked shrilly.

Annie knew that the Muggles would indeed not be back in a hurry, yet she felt a little disheartened that her attempts to point out to the sign how dangerous a place the Mynd was, had fallen on deaf ears.

The sign continued to chuckle gleefully for several moments before turnings its head inquisitively and gazed up one of the narrow country roads. Annie paused, and sure enough a few seconds later she too could hear the faint sound of a Muggle motor vehicle, pottering its way slowly down through the twisting country lanes.

"Well" said Annie, seizing the opportunity to leave the sign to it's business, "I'd better be on my way, lots to do." The sign nodded its head absent-mindedly, already lost deep thought.

As she set off once more, Annie glanced back noting as she did, that the wooden crow was closely inspecting its wings, as if trying to decide which way to send the unfortunate approaching Muggles.

She rounded the corner, striding out of sight of the giant wooden bird. A short distance away, across the road was a stubby dwarf wall of well-worn stone. It was so old that most of the mortar had fallen out of the joints, or become covered by moss or weeds. The wall encircled a church that appeared to be as old and worn as the wall that surrounded it.

Annie paused in the shade of a large acorn tree, next to a small wooden gate, whose timbers were cracked and wrapped with aged. The hinges creaked and whined in protest as Annie opened the gate and entered into the yard beyond. The churchyard was much like the church. It had a serene but rugged beauty, shafts of light cut down through the randomly positioned trees, onto old crumbling stonewalls, which were lined in places with a thin carpet of moss. The whole church looked as if at had simply emerged from the ground, or been carved from a large rock. Even the footpaths were broken and cracked, stray tufts of wild grass poking up through the cracks, waving lazily in the breeze as Annie advanced to the churches large oak door. She paused to glance around, then lifted the giant iron latch with a creak, and entered into a stale gloominess of the building.

The first noticeable thing about the churches interior was its deep musty odour, which smelt like old curtains. The smell wafted lazily through the air, like the faint shafts of light, which streamed through the high stained glass windows.

Unlike the Muggle visitors to the building, Annie's attention was not directed at the spacious echoing hall and it's hard wooden benches. Instead she turned immediately to her left and strode across the rear of the church, heading towards the end of several polished wooden booths. She was about to reach for the round brass handle of the door when suddenly it opened.

To her surprise a short elderly witch almost fell out of the booth. The witch was dressed in dark brown robes with a fur collar, which looked several centauries old. Whilst on her small pudgy face, thick-lensed spectacles perched on a stubby upturned nose. She yanked and pulled on basket that was brimming with goods, and which appeared to be too large to fit through the door.

As the tiny witch heaved and pulled at her heavily over laden basket, a thin snakelike fox, which adorned the brim of her tall pointy hat, raised a weary eyelid and squeaked, "Behind you Agatha."

The little witch spun around, and in her haste nearly bumped straight into Annie. Stepping backwards in surprise, she adjusted her thick-lensed spectacles and peered up with her dim winkled eyes at Annie.

"Oh, Annie." gasped the elderly witch, in a croaky voice. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Its fine Agatha." replied Annie smiling patiently.

She placed Robert carefully on a nearby pew, and tried to help the struggling witch pry her precariously loaded basket free of the booth.

Annie carefully extracted the basket, and hand it to the old witch who smiled thankfully, then adjusted her clothing, which had become rumpled from her fight with the basket.

"Off to the market today are we?" enquired the elderly witch, watching as Annie careful scooped the sleeping baby Robert, up from the pew.

"That's right," replied Annie quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Running out of potion supplies again," she added, "So many orders coming in from Dagon Alley for healing potions and such these days. Plus I need to collect something for my mother".

Something in the little old witches expression changed. Her face seemed to soften into a saddened almost mournful expression. As if suddenly remembering something she reached inside her brimming basket and pulled out a lone daffodil, and after gazing at it sadly for a moment tucked it proudly into the lapel of her robes. She stared up with almost motherly concern into Annie's face, "Please do past my very best wishes on to your dear mother," she crooned "and if there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to send me an owl," and with that the little old witch scooped up her heaving basket, patted Annie reassuringly on the arm and shuffled out of the room.

As the little old witch struggled out the church, her heavy basket in tow, Annie heaved a sigh and climbed into the timber-panelled booth, from where the elderly witch had just appeared. Clutching Robert close to her chest, she pulled out her wand and tapped it against one of the panels. The panel spun with dizzying speed and then, within a blink of an eye, disappeared, revealing an ancient looking coin embedded in a strangely coloured stone.

Taking a deep breath and clutching Robert tightly, Annie reached out a velvet-clad arm and placed her finger on the coin. Suddenly they were consumed by darkness and felt an abrupt, powerful sucking sensation, as if they were being sucked through a long thin straw, by an enormous giant. Fortunately, a second latter Annie felt a familiar spinning sensation, followed by a rush of air and the hard impacting of her feet, against cold hard stone. She straightened herself, adjusted her hair and clothes with one hand, before checking on Robert. Who blinked woozily for a few moments, as if uncle Rodney had been feeding him teaspoons of Merley's Muggle Mead again. Annie gazed at his tiny face with a mixture of amusement and motherly concern, then caressed his cheek affectionately, as she waited patiently for the infants momentary dizziness to pass.

With Robert back to himself, Annie picked up her basket and stooped to pass under the narrow archway leading to the chamber beyond, which was quite an impressive sight. It was a grand, high-ceilinged hallway whose walls were smooth stone, so finely crafted that the joints were almost unperceivable to the naked eye. Elaborate iron braces and elegant chandeliers held the numerous candles and lanterns that lit the hall by night, whilst along the far edge of the room giant smooth pillars, shaped like twisting jets of water, held back the high vaulted ceiling, which ebbed away to reveal the world outside.

All along the walls where Annie now stood, countless witches and wizards were pouring in and out of port key chambers, or the bright blue flames of various floos, their chatter and footsteps echoing around the large hall.

Weaving and sidestepping through the busy crowd, Annie paused momentarily, sensing for the first time that something seemed out of place in the grand hall. She glanced around, noting as she did, that several wizards dressed in Ministry robes were watching the floos and port key chambers. One group of three wizards in particular stood out from the bubbling crowd, as they slouched nonchalantly against the glass case in the center of the room, which housed the infamous Beeching Axe.

Jarred back to the present moment by the insistent throng of witches and wizards, who poured out of the chambers and floo's behind her, Annie apologetically resumed her course, following the flow of bobbing pointy black hats, which streamed between the giant stone pillars into the market below.

Presto market, which lay concealed in the old town of Hye-on-Wye, was an ancient wizarding bazaar, which traced its routes back to shortly after Roman times. Unlike Diagon Alley, the items on sale here were far from the final exquisitely crafted products, which could be purchased in the likes of Quality Quidditch supplies, Honeydukes and countless other wizard shops. Presto market was instead the place where the various craftsmen and woman, came to buy and trade the many materials and components, necessary to _produce_ the various mystical gadgets, which eventually found their way, to the glittering shop windows of Hogsmead and Diagon Alley.

As Annie stood staring down the smooth rounded ancient steps, a steady flow of witches and wizards cascaded down the stairs, into a whirling sea of motion below. The tiny stalls and stands, looked like ships in a busy harbour, their brightly coloured banners flapping like sails in a gathering breeze, as the countless pointy hats of the witches and wizards, swirled and massed like waves, breaking against the bows of the ship like stalls. Far off in the distance, the numerous books of the famous second hand book market, dived and swooped like seagulls on an ocean breeze.

Annie slowly descended the cascading steps and pried her way through the bustling throng. The roaring hubble and bubble of haggling voices rang in her ears, yet despite the usual throng near the bottom of the stairs, Annie noticed that the cobbled streets between the stalls, were a lot quieter than usual. The ruckus of witches and wizards haggling and bargaining over the prices of various goods, seemed to almost echo in certain parts of the market, where the crowds were at there thinnest.

Annie made her way, with little trouble, through the patchy crowds to the first of the stalls on her list, _'Darby & Darby's'_. The stall, which was located half way down the left perimeter wall, stood out noticeably from the others. Instead of brightly coloured banners and shrill shouting vendors, the stall was dirty and unkempt. It's elderly owners, the dirty and grim faced Darby twins, stood quietly at the rear of the stall. Locked in hushed conversation.

As she approached through the thread bear crowd, the elder brother appeared to spot her and with a crocked gloating smile, slithered his way to the front of the stall.

"Morning Mrs. Dobson." hissed the grimy, gnarled old man. "And what can I get you today?" he asked. Attempting to smile, what he no doubt thought was his most persuasive grin, through his warped and rooting brown teeth.

"More Ashwinder eggs?" he crooned. His eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I'm sure we can give you a competitive price."

The old man was about to reached under the counter when Annie raised a hand and quietly shook her head.

"No. Actually I'm after Salamander blood today." She replied politely.

The haggard old man's, broken toothed grin broadened, and he turned to face his brother, who by now had also slithered his way to the front of the stall.

"Salamander blood eh?" He queered. "Making restoration potions of some kind are ya?" The hiss of his voice lingering in the air unpleasantly.

Annie nodded patiently.

"Well, the thing is," muttered the younger of the two grimy old men, "In such dark times as these, the demand has significantly increased for Salamander blood." Annie gaped.

"You don't mean you've ran out?"

"Oh, no." replied Darby quickly. He stroked his long pointed chin and exchanged a furtive look with his brother. "We got em alright." He hissed,

"Only problem is, with demand being so high. We couldn't possibly let them go for the usual price."

Annie looked a little flustered, but not entirely surprised. The old men were well known for such profiteering tactics. "So how much extra do you want?" she enquired politely.

The two dirty old men paused and gazed at each other, shrugging and sighing theatrically. "Well, seeing is it's you Mrs. Dobson." Continued the elder brother slyly, "We could do em for a special _low_ rate of say… an extra 40%".

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Annie. "An extra 40%, that's daylight robbery."

"Well" croaked the older of the two brothers. "If you don't want em." He gasped a large polished box and started moving it, in a painfully slow manner across the counter.

"No." replied an exasperated Annie. "It's fine." She added, "I'll take 6 vials please." Still slightly upset by the brother's excessively mercenary actions, she fumbled into her purse and counted out a several gold gallions and few bronze knuckets, whilst the Darby brothers watched hungrily. No soon had she finished counting the money onto the table, than the two haggard old men swooped like vultures, snatching up the gallions in their dirty talon like hands and testing them between their gnarled stained teeth. Finally satisfied, the elder brother opened a box and handed Annie six glistening crimson vials.

Still annoyed by the brothers antics, she fought the urge to give them a piece of her mind, instead politely bidding them farewell, before moving away from the musty old stall as swiftly as possible.

"Cya Mrs. Dobson." leered one of the brothers after her, "Always a pleasure doing business with you." The two brothers cackled loudly, but fortunately the sound was soon drowned out by the babble of the crowd.

Flustered but glad that the ordeal of dealing with the Darby's was over with, Annie cut across the cobbled marketplace, heading towards the second stop on her shopping list. After several long minutes of twisting and turning through the crowds, the throng finally parted to reveal the far more pleasant sight of Marchment's Marvellous Birds. It was a tiny stall, which virtually burst at the seams with large barrel shaped cages, filled with every imaginable colour, size and breed of owl. From strangely hunched burrowing owls, to the bizarrely elongated long eared owls, their bright blinking eyes and busy turning heads whirled and flashed in such a manner, that from a distance, the stall looked like a giant furry clockwork toy.

Annie waited patiently as the vender of the stall; a tall, thin, middle aged man, with short blonde hair in a side parting and thin round glasses; finished serving a small group of giggling girls.

"Annie!" cheered the man, leaning across the counter and giving her the heartiest of handshakes. "What can I do for you?" he beamed. "You can't possibly be after one of my beautifully priced birds. Surely Roderek's father trains all the birds you need."

"Hi Stephen." Replied Annie, smiling brightly back at the man. "Yes, Sam does sort out all our pets. But it's not actually an owl I'm after."

"Ok, now I'm intrigued," replied Marchment with a chuckle, "So how can I help you?" he asked.

"Well, it's Isabella's birthday next month, and I heard a rumour you're stocking Auguery quills."

"Ha!" laughed Marchment loudly, slapping a hand against the counter.

"I don't know where you get your information from Annie, but you sure don't miss a trick." He beamed boyishly. "You're quite right, just started an Auguery flock a few months back. Tricky devils to rear but I have, as you've correctly heard, been secretly building a stock of quills." He added tapped the side of his nose secretively. "But seeing as it's you. I'm sure I can let you be the first to have one." He carefully drew a long silk lined box from a locked chest and placed it on the counter. The box was just under half full and Marchment watched with a boyish grin, as Annie pulled out each quill in turn and inspected it.

"Quite a book worm that daughter of yours, from what I hear around the Vale." Commented Marchment, as he continued to watch Annie carefully inspecting the quills. "Sounds like she will be a sure thing for Ravenclaw when she gets to Hogwarts, bet that will please all your family over at Wroxeter." Marchment grimaced almost instantly as he finished his sentence. Annie noticeably stiffened but acted as if she had not heard him.

There was a very awkward silence.

"I'll take this one." Murmured Annie quietly, as she passed a long flowing quill to Marchment.

"I… I'm sorry Annie." stammered Marchment.

His jawed flapped uselessly, like the wing of one of his caged owls, seemingly at a loss for words. Instead he gestured to the large wooden beam supporting his stall, where several of the cages were adorned with daffodils, which swayed silently in the breeze.

"Sorry Annie, I didn't mean to bring up…" fumbled Marchment again.

"It's fine Stephen," replied Annie cutting him off and giving him a faint but reassuring smile. "Besides" she added quickly, "I don't care what house they are in. I just want the children to be happy."

Marchment smiled awkwardly and nodded, he hurriedly fastened the quill into a long box with a bow whilst Annie counted out her money. The pair parted without further exchange of words and as Annie slowly disappeared back into the crowd Marchment could seen in the distance, shaking his head and muttering to himself reproachfully.

Still feeling a little out of sorts, Annie cut north through the crowds once more and after several minutes the brightly coloured stalls started to thin out before coming to an abrupt end, as Annie reached the long towering walls of the second hand book market. Feeling slightly down from experiences at Darby's and Marchment's stalls, Annie decided to take a short detour and perhaps treat herself to a new tome or spell book.

The musky smell or ancient books and incense filled the air, as she passed through the southern entrance to the book market, which was marked by two towering pillars of enormous books supporting a long shelf laden with numerous garishly coloured tomes and almanacs. Inside, the sounds of the vendors voices echoed up and down the book lined streets, each touting the titles of the various books for sale, whilst above, the occasional tome swooped or flapped lazily, along the towering bookshelved streets.

Annie wandered aimlessly around, stopping to speak to vendors, or peruse the occasional book. Finally high up, she spotted a tome she wanted and the vender flicked his wand, prompting the book to flap down lazily from its lofty perch. It slowly circled and finally came to rest in Annie outstretched hands, much to the delight of Robert who gurgled and tried to clap his hands gleefully at the sight of the flying spell book.

Feeling slightly rejuvenated by her detour, Annie exited through the musty smelling eastern archway, expecting to see the familiar sight of Copse corner. Instead, Annie was surprised to find the open court yard between, filled with a throng of curious witches and wizard, all of whom pushed, jockeyed or levitated, in an attempt to see what was happening in the centre of the square. Annie slowly picked her way around the outside of the crowd, attempting to find a better vantage point, to view the source of the throng's interest. She paused having found a narrow line of sight, between the pointy hats of several wizards, and noted with distain and surprise that one of the figures drawing the crowd's attention, was none other than Rita Skeeter.

The pasty faced Skeeter, with her heavily pencilled eyebrows and hag like teeth, was beaming one of her usual incredibly false smiles, as an overweight balding camera man, with fat sausage like lips and tatty grey robes, stalked around like a hungry animal, poised to snap a flashing picture at any inopportune moment.

Annie grimaced, like many people she disliked Skeeter with an ardent passion. Aside from her articles last summer calling Harry Potter and Dumbledore lairs, Skeeter had printed a veritable plethora of scathing articles, all with seeming impunity, against various members of both Annie's and Roderek's family. Fortunately Annie had not laid eyes on the pasty faced Skeeter in years, as she was no longer considered welcome in the Vale, not since the printing of her book besmirching one of the most famous wizards in Vale history; _'Neil Harper – Famous and flawed. The Lies behind the Myth, the Insanity behind the Idiot'_.

Frowning, Annie stood on tiptoes, attempting to get a glimpse of Skeeter's latest victim, yet she was unable to see anything past the wall of pointy hats. Glancing around nervously, to making sure nobody was watching, she carefully slipped out her wand and took aim at a nearby tubby wizard wearing a partially large feathered hat. She flicked the wand quickly and a moment later the man's hat leapt into the air and bolted across the cobbled stone yard, it's owner in hot pursuit.

Now having an unobstructed view, Annie was surprised to see that the target of Skeeter's sickeningly false smiles and flattery was no Quidditch player, nor Radio star, it was instead the bizarrely dressed Chief Market Official, Clive Wycherley.

Wycherley, was something of an oddity even in wizard terms. His robes, which were a patchwork, were the exact opposite of what most people would assume a patchwork to be. Instead of random gordy patches with poor stitching, Wycherley's robes were made from the finest cloths in the land. Countless vibrant colours and complex patterns had been masterfully crafted together, into a set of robes whose elegant shape and style, would not have looked out of place on a catwalk model. Beneath his robes an excessive frilly white shirt spilled out at the neck and wrists in ruffles and folds, as if the stylish shirt he wore belonged to a woman, who was several sizes larger than him. A long flowing powered wig, which sparkled with the same silvery flecks that could be seen on his gleaming black belt and shoes, silhouetted his tort narrow face, which was currently alight with a radiant glow, no doubt caused by Skeeter's carefully constructed flattery.

Annie groaned, despite being quite eccentric, Wycherley was one of the best Market Officials Presto Market had ever had. The once grubby stalls and streets, under Wycherley's care, now shone like a shinny new gallion, whilst Wycherley, who prided himself on meeting and greeting the visitors and vendors of his market, was widely considered an asset to the growth and stability of Presto market.

Unfortunately Wycherley, aside from his eccentric dress sense, was notorious for not being the pointiest wand in the wand shop, a fact that gotten him into trouble on several occasions. Only last year the Weasley twins, Fred and George, who had started frequenting the market to buy supplies for their joke shop, had played a practical joke on the slow witted and trusting Wycherley, which had resulted in two hundreds ducks in bowties being released into the market. In the aftermath of all the 'Clives gone Qwackers' jokes Wycherley had been to embarrassed to confirm who exactly had duped him to believing it was national duck-day.

As Skeeter's tubby leering cameraman flashed away, Wycherley pulled out a long silk handkerchief and dabbed his brow theatrically. As if the effort of posing for the photographs was some kind of incredibly arduous task.

"So, Clive" crooned Skeeter, donning one of her most a sickeningly false smiles,

"It is ok if I call you Clive isn't it?" she added with a girlish titter,

"But of course it was darling," replied Wycherley, reclining against the announcements podium and fanning himself with his handkerchief.

"It's just business as usual at Presto market then?" asked Skeeter innocently,

"But of course it's business as usual darling," replied Wycherley with a grand flourish of lacy handkerchief,

"My patrons have absolutely no cause for alarm. As you can see the Ministry has provided this facility with several of its finest Auroras," he smiled charismatically and tipped the slightest of nods in the direction of the watching crowds.

"So," replied Skeeter peering deviously over the top of her roll of parchment,

"Not even the tiniest bit worried then?"

"I mean, I'm not the type of person to cause undue alarm but, didn't the Death Eaters walk into the Quidditch world cup under significantly tighter security?"

The effect of Skeeter's seemingly innocent question was instant. Wycherley's whole aspect changed. His grand theatrical manner drained away in seconds, even the painted colour on his lips and cheeks seemed to pale.

"My dear woman. Whatever are you implying?" whimpered Wcherley,

"Nothing Clive, nothing," replied Skeeter, fainting indifference as her leering photographer started to snap more photos of the off guard Wycherley.

"I'm just pointing out the facts. I mean, a handful of Auroras and all these people, packed in here like Murtlaps in a barrel._ If_ Death Eaters were to attack the causalities would be, what's the word I'm looking for… catastrophic?"

Wycherley's jaw dropped. He froze in horror, as if Skeeter had just turned into a giant scaly Basilisk and petrified him with her beady gaze.

"I can see the headlines now," crooned Skeeter, "_Presto Market Massacre, Who's to Blame?_"

Wycherley suddenly finding his voice let out a short high-pitched scream and jumped into the air, as if someone had set the bottom of his robes on fire.

"Rita, darling, what a ghastly thing to say," gasped a now distraught Wycherley,

"I can assure you the Ministry and I have made the publics safe our number one priority," he spluttered,

"It was I that approached the Ministry to review the issue of security and they, having reviewed the situation, have provided all the additional manpower necessary. I am offended by your presumption that I would dare take risks with my beloved patrons lives."

Wycherley, appearing to feel that he had put Rita straight, started to fan himself vigorously with his long lacy handkerchief.

"I see," replied Skeeter scrawling lazily on her note pad,

"So were talking more along the lines of a headline like '_Market Massacre Blamed on Ministry_, _Chief Market Official Passes the Gallion'_" Wycherley let out another short sharp screech,

"I see what you're trying to do," babbled a distressed Wycherley, waving an accusing finger at Skeeter,

"You're trying to twist my words. People warned me not to trust you. You promised me you'd changed since you left the Daily Prophet",

"This interview is over, you'll get no more out of me, you, you, you contemptible Shrew."

And with that, he raised an arm to shield himself from the flashing camera, and scuttle off in the direction of his office, Skeeter and the leering cameraman in close pursuit.

"What about '_Chief Market Official Takes Vow of Silence Over Market Massacre'_ then?" shouted Skeeter leering delightedly, as she chased after the hastily retreating Wycherley.

Annie's blood boiled, she secretly wished she could have jinxed or at least yelled at the deceitful and vindictive Skeeter, but deep down she knew she could not bring herself to stoop to Skeeter level. No Jinxing or making rude and risky comments to loud mouthed trouble makers had always been Rodney's speciality, but given Rodney's previous run ins with Rita, it was probably a good thing that he wasn't here.

With the spectacle now gone, the crowd quickly thinned out and trickled back into the surrounding stalls. The chatter about the incident soon swallowed up amongst the everyday babble of business. Annie likewise slowly meandered away in the direction of Copse Corner, pausing to let a pump out of breath wizard past her, as he chased a large feather hat.

Unlike the other sections of the market, the trade in Copse Corner had not slowed one bit due to recent events. Many pure bloods families found the idea of eating Muggle grown food disgusting, or distasteful at best, and so regularly sent their house elves to Presto Market to buy food produced from wizard owned farms.

Annie carefully navigated her way through the sea of bobbing sacks and baskets, which rested on the head of the scampering house elves below. Eventually picking her way around to her final stop, the florists known as _'Thomas & Thrower'._

The stall was alive with all manner of strangely shaped and vibrantly coloured flowers, the stall seemed to have ever flower imaginable, from pulsating firedrake Lilly's, which spat fiery glowing seeds high into the air and then caught them in their leafy jaws again; to the growling snaffleroots, which sniffed at passers-by and occasionally sank their teeth into an unsuspecting wizards robes, ripping and pulling like a ill-tempered bulldog.

Dodging an over laden house elf, who's shaking legs looked just about to give way under the weight of a mountainously heaped basket of vegetables, Annie quietly purchased two large bunches of daffodil and then politely bid the chatty stall own good day.

She paused inspecting the vibrant cheerfully coloured daffodils for a moment, a slightly mournfully expression creeping across her face, which starkly contrasted the vibrantly coloured flowers.

Robert stirred in his basket and Annie seeming to return to herself and smiled down at him,

"Well," she said softly to the tiny stretching infant,

"I guess we'd better get these to your Nana." And with a faint smile and a swish of her velvety robes Annie and Robert disappeared back into the crowd.

12


	3. Chapter 3 Presto Market

**- CHAPTER THREE**** -**

_**Presto Market**_

As Annie, clutching Robert and her basket, placed her finger on the ancient concealed coin, suddenly they were consumed by darkness and felt an abrupt, powerful sucking sensation, as if they were being sucked through a long thin straw, by an enormous giant. Fortunately, a second latter Annie felt a familiar spinning sensation, followed by a rush of air and the hard impacting of her feet, against cold hard stone. She straightened herself, adjusted her hair and clothes with one hand, before checking on Robert. Who blinked woozily for a few moments, as if uncle Rodney had been feeding him teaspoons of Merley's Muggle Mead again. Annie gazed at his tiny face with a mixture of amusement and motherly concern, then caressed his cheek affectionately, as she waited patiently for the infants momentary dizziness to pass.

With Robert back to himself, Annie picked up her basket and stooped to pass under the narrow archway leading to the chamber beyond, which was quite an impressive sight. It was a grand, high-ceilinged hallway whose walls were smooth stone, so finely crafted that the joints were almost unperceivable to the naked eye. Elaborate iron braces and elegant chandeliers held the numerous candles and lanterns that lit the hall by night, whilst along the far edge of the room giant smooth pillars, shaped like twisting jets of water, held back the high vaulted ceiling, which ebbed away to reveal the world outside.

All along the walls where Annie now stood, countless witches and wizards were pouring in and out of port key chambers, or the bright blue flames of various floos, their chatter and footsteps echoing around the large hall.

Weaving and sidestepping through the busy crowd, Annie paused momentarily, sensing for the first time that something seemed out of place in the grand hall. She glanced around, noting as she did, that several wizards dressed in Ministry robes were watching the floos and port key chambers. One group of three wizards in particular stood out from the bubbling crowd, as they slouched nonchalantly against the glass case in the center of the room, which housed the infamous Beeching Axe.

Jarred back to the present moment by the insistent throng of witches and wizards, who poured out of the chambers and floo's behind her, Annie apologetically resumed her course, following the flow of bobbing pointy black hats, which streamed between the giant stone pillars into the market below.

Presto market, which lay concealed in the old town of Hye-on-Wye, was an ancient wizarding bazaar, which traced its routes back to shortly after Roman times. Unlike Diagon Alley, the items on sale here were far from the final exquisitely crafted products, which could be purchased in the likes of Quality Quidditch supplies, Honeydukes and countless other wizard shops. Presto market was instead the place where the various craftsmen and woman, came to buy and trade the many materials and components, necessary to _produce_ the various mystical gadgets, which eventually found their way, to the glittering shop windows of Hogsmead and Diagon Alley.

As Annie stood staring down the smooth rounded ancient steps, a steady flow of witches and wizards cascaded down the stairs, into a whirling sea of motion below. The tiny stalls and stands, looked like ships in a busy harbour, their brightly coloured banners flapping like sails in a gathering breeze, as the countless pointy hats of the witches and wizards, swirled and massed like waves, breaking against the bows of the ship like stalls. Far off in the distance, the numerous books of the famous second hand book market, dived and swooped like seagulls on an ocean breeze.

Annie slowly descended the cascading steps and pried her way through the bustling throng. The roaring hubble and bubble of haggling voices rang in her ears, yet despite the usual throng near the bottom of the stairs, Annie noticed that the cobbled streets between the stalls, were a lot quieter than usual. The ruckus of witches and wizards haggling and bargaining over the prices of various goods, seemed to almost echo in certain parts of the market, where the crowds were at there thinnest.

Annie made her way, with little trouble, through the patchy crowds to the first of the stalls on her list, _'Darby & Darby's'_. The stall, which was located half way down the left perimeter wall, stood out noticeably from the others. Instead of brightly coloured banners and shrill shouting vendors, the stall was dirty and unkempt. It's elderly owners, the dirty and grim faced Darby twins, stood quietly at the rear of the stall. Locked in hushed conversation.

As she approached through the thread bear crowd, the elder brother appeared to spot her and with a crocked gloating smile, slithered his way to the front of the stall.

"Morning Mrs. Dobson." hissed the grimy, gnarled old man. "And what can I get you today?" he asked. Attempting to smile, what he no doubt thought was his most persuasive grin, through his warped and rooting brown teeth.

"More Ashwinder eggs?" he crooned. His eyebrow cocked expectantly. "I'm sure we can give you a competitive price."

The old man was about to reached under the counter when Annie raised a hand and quietly shook her head.

"No. Actually I'm after Salamander blood today." She replied politely.

The haggard old man's, broken toothed grin broadened, and he turned to face his brother, who by now had also slithered his way to the front of the stall.

"Salamander blood eh?" He queered. "Making restoration potions of some kind are ya?" The hiss of his voice lingering in the air unpleasantly.

Annie nodded patiently.

"Well, the thing is," muttered the younger of the two grimy old men, "In such dark times as these, the demand has significantly increased for Salamander blood." Annie gaped.

"You don't mean you've ran out?"

"Oh, no." replied Darby quickly. He stroked his long pointed chin and exchanged a furtive look with his brother. "We got em alright." He hissed,

"Only problem is, with demand being so high. We couldn't possibly let them go for the usual price."

Annie looked a little flustered, but not entirely surprised. The old men were well known for such profiteering tactics. "So how much extra do you want?" she enquired politely.

The two dirty old men paused and gazed at each other, shrugging and sighing theatrically. "Well, seeing is it's you Mrs. Dobson." Continued the elder brother slyly, "We could do em for a special _low_ rate of say… an extra 40%".

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Annie. "An extra 40%, that's daylight robbery."

"Well" croaked the older of the two brothers. "If you don't want em." He gasped a large polished box and started moving it, in a painfully slow manner across the counter.

"No." replied an exasperated Annie. "It's fine." She added, "I'll take 6 vials please." Still slightly upset by the brother's excessively mercenary actions, she fumbled into her purse and counted out a several gold gallions and few bronze knuckets, whilst the Darby brothers watched hungrily. No soon had she finished counting the money onto the table, than the two haggard old men swooped like vultures, snatching up the gallions in their dirty talon like hands and testing them between their gnarled stained teeth. Finally satisfied, the elder brother opened a box and handed Annie six glistening crimson vials.

Still annoyed by the brothers antics, she fought the urge to give them a piece of her mind, instead politely bidding them farewell, before moving away from the musty old stall as swiftly as possible.

"Cya Mrs. Dobson." leered one of the brothers after her, "Always a pleasure doing business with you." The two brothers cackled loudly, but fortunately the sound was soon drowned out by the babble of the crowd.

Flustered but glad that the ordeal of dealing with the Darby's was over with, Annie cut across the cobbled marketplace, heading towards the second stop on her shopping list. After several long minutes of twisting and turning through the crowds, the throng finally parted to reveal the far more pleasant sight of Marchment's Marvellous Birds. It was a tiny stall, which virtually burst at the seams with large barrel shaped cages, filled with every imaginable colour, size and breed of owl. From strangely hunched burrowing owls, to the bizarrely elongated long eared owls, their bright blinking eyes and busy turning heads whirled and flashed in such a manner, that from a distance, the stall looked like a giant furry clockwork toy.

Annie waited patiently as the vender of the stall; a tall, thin, middle aged man, with short blonde hair in a side parting and thin round glasses; finished serving a small group of giggling girls.

"Annie!" cheered the man, leaning across the counter and giving her the heartiest of handshakes. "What can I do for you?" he beamed. "You can't possibly be after one of my beautifully priced birds. Surely Roderek's father trains all the birds you need."

"Hi Stephen." Replied Annie, smiling brightly back at the man. "Yes, Sam does sort out all our pets. But it's not actually an owl I'm after."

"Ok, now I'm intrigued," replied Marchment with a chuckle, "So how can I help you?" he asked.

"Well, it's Isabella's birthday next month, and I heard a rumour you're stocking Auguery quills."

"Ha!" laughed Marchment loudly, slapping a hand against the counter.

"I don't know where you get your information from Annie, but you sure don't miss a trick." He beamed boyishly. "You're quite right, just started an Auguery flock a few months back. Tricky devils to rear but I have, as you've correctly heard, been secretly building a stock of quills." He added tapped the side of his nose secretively. "But seeing as it's you. I'm sure I can let you be the first to have one." He carefully drew a long silk lined box from a locked chest and placed it on the counter. The box was just under half full and Marchment watched with a boyish grin, as Annie pulled out each quill in turn and inspected it.

"Quite a book worm that daughter of yours, from what I hear around the Vale." Commented Marchment, as he continued to watch Annie carefully inspecting the quills. "Sounds like she will be a sure thing for Ravenclaw when she gets to Hogwarts, bet that will please all your family over at Wroxeter." Marchment grimaced almost instantly as he finished his sentence. Annie noticeably stiffened but acted as if she had not heard him.

There was a very awkward silence.

"I'll take this one." Murmured Annie quietly, as she passed a long flowing quill to Marchment.

"I… I'm sorry Annie." stammered Marchment.

His jawed flapped uselessly, like the wing of one of his caged owls, seemingly at a loss for words. Instead he gestured to the large wooden beam supporting his stall, where several of the cages were adorned with daffodils, which swayed silently in the breeze.

"Sorry Annie, I didn't mean to bring up…" fumbled Marchment again.

"It's fine Stephen," replied Annie cutting him off and giving him a faint but reassuring smile. "Besides" she added quickly, "I don't care what house they are in. I just want the children to be happy."

Marchment smiled awkwardly and nodded, he hurriedly fastened the quill into a long box with a bow whilst Annie counted out her money. The pair parted without further exchange of words and as Annie slowly disappeared back into the crowd Marchment could seen in the distance, shaking his head and muttering to himself reproachfully.

Still feeling a little out of sorts, Annie cut north through the crowds once more and after several minutes the brightly coloured stalls started to thin out before coming to an abrupt end, as Annie reached the long towering walls of the second hand book market. Feeling slightly down from experiences at Darby's and Marchment's stalls, Annie decided to take a short detour and perhaps treat herself to a new tome or spell book.

The musky smell or ancient books and incense filled the air, as she passed through the southern entrance to the book market, which was marked by two towering pillars of enormous books supporting a long shelf laden with numerous garishly coloured tomes and almanacs. Inside, the sounds of the vendors voices echoed up and down the book lined streets, each touting the titles of the various books for sale, whilst above, the occasional tome swooped or flapped lazily, along the towering bookshelved streets.

Annie wandered aimlessly around, stopping to speak to vendors, or peruse the occasional book. Finally high up, she spotted a tome she wanted and the vender flicked his wand, prompting the book to flap down lazily from its lofty perch. It slowly circled and finally came to rest in Annie outstretched hands, much to the delight of Robert who gurgled and tried to clap his hands gleefully at the sight of the flying spell book.

Feeling slightly rejuvenated by her detour, Annie exited through the musty smelling eastern archway, expecting to see the familiar sight of Copse corner. Instead, Annie was surprised to find the open court yard between, filled with a throng of curious witches and wizard, all of whom pushed, jockeyed or levitated, in an attempt to see what was happening in the centre of the square. Annie slowly picked her way around the outside of the crowd, attempting to find a better vantage point, to view the source of the throng's interest. She paused having found a narrow line of sight, between the pointy hats of several wizards, and noted with distain and surprise that one of the figures drawing the crowd's attention, was none other than Rita Skeeter.

The pasty faced Skeeter, with her heavily pencilled eyebrows and hag like teeth, was beaming one of her usual incredibly false smiles, as an overweight balding camera man, with fat sausage like lips and tatty grey robes, stalked around like a hungry animal, poised to snap a flashing picture at any inopportune moment.

Annie grimaced, like many people she disliked Skeeter with an ardent passion. Aside from her articles last summer calling Harry Potter and Dumbledore lairs, Skeeter had printed a veritable plethora of scathing articles, all with seeming impunity, against various members of both Annie's and Roderek's family. Fortunately Annie had not laid eyes on the pasty faced Skeeter in years, as she was no longer considered welcome in the Vale, not since the printing of her book besmirching one of the most famous wizards in Vale history; _'Neil Harper – Famous and flawed. The Lies behind the Myth, the Insanity behind the Idiot'_.

Frowning, Annie stood on tiptoes, attempting to get a glimpse of Skeeter's latest victim, yet she was unable to see anything past the wall of pointy hats. Glancing around nervously, to making sure nobody was watching, she carefully slipped out her wand and took aim at a nearby tubby wizard wearing a partially large feathered hat. She flicked the wand quickly and a moment later the man's hat leapt into the air and bolted across the cobbled stone yard, it's owner in hot pursuit.

Now having an unobstructed view, Annie was surprised to see that the target of Skeeter's sickeningly false smiles and flattery was no Quidditch player, nor Radio star, it was instead the bizarrely dressed Chief Market Official, Clive Wycherley.

Wycherley, was something of an oddity even in wizard terms. His robes, which were a patchwork, were the exact opposite of what most people would assume a patchwork to be. Instead of random gordy patches with poor stitching, Wycherley's robes were made from the finest cloths in the land. Countless vibrant colours and complex patterns had been masterfully crafted together, into a set of robes whose elegant shape and style, would not have looked out of place on a catwalk model. Beneath his robes an excessive frilly white shirt spilled out at the neck and wrists in ruffles and folds, as if the stylish shirt he wore belonged to a woman, who was several sizes larger than him. A long flowing powered wig, which sparkled with the same silvery flecks that could be seen on his gleaming black belt and shoes, silhouetted his tort narrow face, which was currently alight with a radiant glow, no doubt caused by Skeeter's carefully constructed flattery.

Annie groaned, despite being quite eccentric, Wycherley was one of the best Market Officials Presto Market had ever had. The once grubby stalls and streets, under Wycherley's care, now shone like a shinny new gallion, whilst Wycherley, who prided himself on meeting and greeting the visitors and vendors of his market, was widely considered an asset to the growth and stability of Presto market.

Unfortunately Wycherley, aside from his eccentric dress sense, was notorious for not being the pointiest wand in the wand shop, a fact that gotten him into trouble on several occasions. Only last year the Weasley twins, Fred and George, who had started frequenting the market to buy supplies for their joke shop, had played a practical joke on the slow witted and trusting Wycherley, which had resulted in two hundreds ducks in bowties being released into the market. In the aftermath of all the 'Clives gone Qwackers' jokes Wycherley had been to embarrassed to confirm who exactly had duped him to believing it was national duck-day.

As Skeeter's tubby leering cameraman flashed away, Wycherley pulled out a long silk handkerchief and dabbed his brow theatrically. As if the effort of posing for the photographs was some kind of incredibly arduous task.

"So, Clive" crooned Skeeter, donning one of her most a sickeningly false smiles,

"It is ok if I call you Clive isn't it?" she added with a girlish titter,

"But of course it was darling," replied Wycherley, reclining against the announcements podium and fanning himself with his handkerchief.

"It's just business as usual at Presto market then?" asked Skeeter innocently,

"But of course it's business as usual darling," replied Wycherley with a grand flourish of lacy handkerchief,

"My patrons have absolutely no cause for alarm. As you can see the Ministry has provided this facility with several of its finest Auroras," he smiled charismatically and tipped the slightest of nods in the direction of the watching crowds.

"So," replied Skeeter peering deviously over the top of her roll of parchment,

"Not even the tiniest bit worried then?"

"I mean, I'm not the type of person to cause undue alarm but, didn't the Death Eaters walk into the Quidditch world cup under significantly tighter security?"

The effect of Skeeter's seemingly innocent question was instant. Wycherley's whole aspect changed. His grand theatrical manner drained away in seconds, even the painted colour on his lips and cheeks seemed to pale.

"My dear woman. Whatever are you implying?" whimpered Wcherley,

"Nothing Clive, nothing," replied Skeeter, fainting indifference as her leering photographer started to snap more photos of the off guard Wycherley.

"I'm just pointing out the facts. I mean, a handful of Auroras and all these people, packed in here like Murtlaps in a barrel._ If_ Death Eaters were to attack the causalities would be, what's the word I'm looking for… catastrophic?"

Wycherley's jaw dropped. He froze in horror, as if Skeeter had just turned into a giant scaly Basilisk and petrified him with her beady gaze.

"I can see the headlines now," crooned Skeeter, "_Presto Market Massacre, Who's to Blame?_"

Wycherley suddenly finding his voice let out a short high-pitched scream and jumped into the air, as if someone had set the bottom of his robes on fire.

"Rita, darling, what a ghastly thing to say," gasped a now distraught Wycherley,

"I can assure you the Ministry and I have made the publics safe our number one priority," he spluttered,

"It was I that approached the Ministry to review the issue of security and they, having reviewed the situation, have provided all the additional manpower necessary. I am offended by your presumption that I would dare take risks with my beloved patrons lives."

Wycherley, appearing to feel that he had put Rita straight, started to fan himself vigorously with his long lacy handkerchief.

"I see," replied Skeeter scrawling lazily on her note pad,

"So were talking more along the lines of a headline like '_Market Massacre Blamed on Ministry_, _Chief Market Official Passes the Gallion'_" Wycherley let out another short sharp screech,

"I see what you're trying to do," babbled a distressed Wycherley, waving an accusing finger at Skeeter,

"You're trying to twist my words. People warned me not to trust you. You promised me you'd changed since you left the Daily Prophet",

"This interview is over, you'll get no more out of me, you, you, you contemptible Shrew."

And with that, he raised an arm to shield himself from the flashing camera, and scuttle off in the direction of his office, Skeeter and the leering cameraman in close pursuit.

"What about '_Chief Market Official Takes Vow of Silence Over Market Massacre'_ then?" shouted Skeeter leering delightedly, as she chased after the hastily retreating Wycherley.

Annie's blood boiled, she secretly wished she could have jinxed or at least yelled at the deceitful and vindictive Skeeter, but deep down she knew she could not bring herself to stoop to Skeeter level. No Jinxing or making rude and risky comments to loud mouthed trouble makers had always been Rodney's speciality, but given Rodney's previous run ins with Rita, it was probably a good thing that he wasn't here.

With the spectacle now gone, the crowd quickly thinned out and trickled back into the surrounding stalls. The chatter about the incident soon swallowed up amongst the everyday babble of business. Annie likewise slowly meandered away in the direction of Copse Corner, pausing to let a pump out of breath wizard past her, as he chased a large feather hat.

Unlike the other sections of the market, the trade in Copse Corner had not slowed one bit due to recent events. Many pure bloods families found the idea of eating Muggle grown food disgusting, or distasteful at best, and so regularly sent their house elves to Presto Market to buy food produced from wizard owned farms.

Annie carefully navigated her way through the sea of bobbing sacks and baskets, which rested on the head of the scampering house elves below. Eventually picking her way around to her final stop, the florists known as _'Thomas & Thrower'._

The stall was alive with all manner of strangely shaped and vibrantly coloured flowers, the stall seemed to have ever flower imaginable, from pulsating firedrake Lilly's, which spat fiery glowing seeds high into the air and then caught them in their leafy jaws again; to the growling snaffleroots, which sniffed at passers-by and occasionally sank their teeth into an unsuspecting wizards robes, ripping and pulling like a ill-tempered bulldog.

Dodging an over laden house elf, who's shaking legs looked just about to give way under the weight of a mountainously heaped basket of vegetables, Annie quietly purchased two large bunches of daffodil and then politely bid the chatty stall own good day.

She paused inspecting the vibrant cheerfully coloured daffodils for a moment, a slightly mournfully expression creeping across her face, which starkly contrasted the vibrantly coloured flowers.

Robert stirred in his basket and Annie seeming to return to herself and smiled down at him,

"Well," she said softly to the tiny stretching infant,

"I guess we'd better get these to your Nana." And with a faint smile and a swish of her velvety robes Annie and Robert disappeared back into the crowd.


	4. Chapter 4 Daffodils

**-**** CHAPTER FOUR -**

_**Daffodils**_

It was early afternoon by the time Annie Dobson had finished her trip to Presto Market. Having made her way back to the church this time she climbed into a second booth further along the wall and after removing the secret panel, she drew a deep breath before touching the ancient coin beneath and feeling the familiar sensation of being sucked through a long thin straw.

Shaking off the momentary dizziness, Annie stepped out of a small ornately craved shrine-like building, it had a domed roof and was constructed from a pale almost incandesant stone. The elegant little building stood in what appeared to be a large very well kept garden, where towering hedges as tall as a house surrounded the spacious clearing on all side, their leafy walls only occasionally broken by a worn stone archway or a niche containing a strange looking statue.

Pausing to draw in a long cleansing breath of fresh air, Annie adjusted her grip on her basket and checked once more on the sleeping Robert before proceeding across the perfectly manicured lawn. She strode past an oddly shaped sun dial, which stood on an ancient stone pedestal in the center of the clearing, as she passed it glowed faintly and the contraptions various rings seemed to slowly stir into motion, several runes on the ancient metal bands becoming barely visible as the rings silently turned.

Not appearing to notice the sun dials subtle actions Annie crossed the clearing to a long straight channel which cut through the towering hedges and strode casually down the passage.

There was a peaceful stillness that seemed to hold sway in this place, an almost quiet and reflective calm, the smell of freshly cut grass and the tuneful twittering of a song bird in the distances were the only distractions from the sound of the breeze, which gently stroked the leaves at the top of the tall hedges. As Annie continued her serene walk and it slowly started to become apparent from the positions of the nearby hedges, that Annie was in fact passing through what must be part of a large well groomed maze.

The mazes towering bushy walls had already started to recede and soon opened to reveal the source of the sites true tranquility. The bushy labyrinth was but a small part of a set of giant sprawling gardens, each distinct and unique from the next. Some were dominated by finely crafted ornamental pools and immaculate lawns, whilst others burst with the colours of countless wondrous looking flowers whose alluring fragrances now wafted pleasantly through the air. The gardens all seemed to be at different heights and were separated by equally countless different means such as smooth stone walls, tall noble looking trees and in one case what appeared to be a levitating curtain of water.

Row after row of oddly shaped bushes lined both sides of the footpath that Annie now followed a thick high hedge to her right and the garden cascading grandly away to her left. The bushes along the path had been trimmed with the same immaculate care as the gardens, each opposing pair resembling a different magical creature, so uncanny was the perfection of their sculpting that visitors often eyed the bushes cautiously as they passed, many convinced that they had just seen one of the bushy creatures rotating its head slowly to watch them pass.

Unperturbed by such thoughts Annie rounded the corner of the high hedge into a large central courtyard, the pleasantly familiar sight beyond bringing the hint of a smile and twinkle to her eye.

At the far end of the courtyard, now clearly visible beyond the high hedge, sprawled a large castle. The castles grandeur and exocentric appearance reflected the odd and wondrous gardens that surrounded it; a broad cascading staircase grandly spread out beneath an enormous pair of paneled doors, which were covered with countless door knockers, each emblazed with the tiny face of a different race of creatures, from twisted faced gnomes to grumpy faced trolls. Above in the towers numerous carefully positioned slot windows gazed down onto the cobbled courtyard, the flickering golden hue of torches and lanterns within barely visible. The smooth and weathered stone walls were constructed of an odd patchwork of different shaped and sized stones, yet the patchwork of stone fitted together perfectly with a strange almost regal elegance, which was reflected high up in the buildings battlements and tower tops, where the familiar purple, silver and white colours of Wroxeter castle, home of the WI, fluttered softly in the breeze.

The WI or Witches / Wizards Institute, to give the organization its full name, was one of the wizarding community's oldest and most beloved organizations. The institute had first been founded in Roman times during the age of collusion.

Prior to the arrival of the Romans on Britannia's shores the wizarding communities had been divided and hidden from view, hidden even from each other. The invading Roman's had built many roads and great cities where their own wizards openly performed their form of magic in the streets and temples. The cities had acted like magnets attracting the attentions of wizard and muggle alike and for the first time many of the small scattered families and covenants of witches and wizards came together and meet for the first time.

It did not take the Britannic witches and wizards long to realize that each group had knowledge the others did not possess and that something must be done to protect and spread such knowledge among its people. It was here in the shadow of Wroxeter, the fourth largest city in the land, that such witches and wizards came together, shielded and hidden by their magical protections, to build the first and most ancient part of Wroxeter castle, the tower of high sorcery.

The tower they built was thirteen storeys high, one level for each new moon of the year, but although the tower had a grand library, guest rooms, laboratories and a banquet hall, the building soon needed to be increased. More and more wizards came from all corners of the land, bring more books, more knowledge and more teachings. Soon the tower was joined by three smaller towers and a building between, which formed a keep. Beauty enchanted orchards now surround the building and the wizards placed a Vallum wall around it to protect it. Defensive dwoomer spells were cast upon the woods surrounding the castle, so that any Muggle entering would lose their sense of direction and wander back out.

Years past, Muggle kings rose and fell and with each passing era new additions were made to the castle. The southern gates, lowering down to the river were built in style of the Norman times, whilst later additions like the eastern wing were built in chateau style of the late seventeen hundreds.

From a distance Wroxeter castle was truly an unusual yet magnificent sight to behold, a patch work styles and era's, blended together in a spell binding manner, yet Visitors to it's halls found the castle within to match the walls outside, plunging deep into the heart of castle often found hidden gardens or orchards, the old Vallum wall, the style and colour of the walls, doors and gate changed as person moved from one part of the castle to the next, rumors persisted to this day of countless hidden rooms in every corner of the building.

Wroxeter's uses as well as its appearance had changed many times over the years, the rise of the Ministry and the building of Hogwarts had all had their effects on what the WI taught within it's halls, Toads and Tadpoles classes still existed for those wizards who preferred not to send their children to Muggle schools for their pre-Hogwarts educations, the institute still taught many trade crafts and skills, whilst in the last few decades the WI had blossomed under the introduction of new special interest courses. Most importantly, the castle was far enough away from the city of Wroxeter to not be affected by the great curses, two great curses, of ancient magic now lost, so powerful that it reduced a once great and gleaming city to nothing more than an empty ruined town of ghosts. So cursed was the land, that nothing now grew there and Minster of Magic had even forbid the most powerful wizards to enter its gates.

Revived by the sight of Wroxeter's walls Annie hastened up entrance stairs, taking the old warn steps two at time as she passed between the imposing entrance doors and sweeping into the room beyond.

The room she entered was truly cavernous; an elaborate weave of arching beams and chandlers filled the high rafters, whilst below numerous differently shaped staircases and passageways exited the room at peculiar angles. Most of the stairs were lined with busts of famous witches and wizard who often offered advice, or in the case of Grettlebury the ghastly, cooking tips for troll toes, as you passed them by. The center of the grand hallway had been transformed into large a comfortable seating area of plush and comfortable high backed chairs, where normally several witches and wizards could be found sitting, sipping tea whilst a busy young witch bustled behind a long curved help desk directing silvery legged tables to sidled quietly over to the waiting wizards, offering them a choice of magazines or witches institute guides. Yet today the room seemed mournful and empty, the few witches and wizards present looked deep in clouded sadden thoughts, their somber moods starkly contrasting the bright yellow daffodils that they for some reason were wearing.

Not pausing to linger or chat with the glum looking young witch at the help desk, Annie headed straight across the hall. As she approached a large sweeping staircase she caught the tailed end glimpse of a flash of green flame from the large fire place in the seating area, as a teacher made there way home.

Whilst guests such as Annie were these days forced to enter the grounds through the port key in the maze, the teachers and staff or Wroxeter were still allowed protected access to the entrance hall through the floo's between Wroxeter and their homes. Glancing away from the dying green flames Annie climbed the main stair to the third floor, pausing only momentarily to smile and nod politely at a bust of the wizard Coreon the Crusher, who nodded and smiled reassuringly at her as she passed, a single yellow daffodil tucked under what remained of his one arm.

The main western corridor of the third floor was not much like the passage ways of Hogwarts, it's walls were not lined with as many paintings or suits of amour, Wroxeter instead contained a large number of busts, and oddly shaped statues. Incredibly long tapestries hung on many walls where tiny moving stitched figures played out stories of historical importance. There were also numerous fresco's of living plaster figures which, unlike their silent embroidered counterparts, tended to argue and hit each other over the head with their broom's and caldron's. The ill tempered and rude hob-goblin's, who were chiseled into several of the columns, were in particular well known for picking their noses whilst leering at people who walked by.

As Annie paced down the long corridor her foot steps felt as if they echoed more than usual, she glanced through the occasional open door into the class room beyond and noted that the classes, like the entrance hall, seemed noticeably smaller than usual. Each class she saw seeming to have lessened by almost a third. Like the wizards in the entrance hall nearly every witch and wizard, including the teachers, seemed to be sporting a single lone daffodil, the tiny vibrant flowers seeming almost vulgar or rude in comparison to the depressing sense of loss and suffering that seemed to be hanging in the air.

At last the wide open doors to the administration wing came into view and after passing a small watery eyed house elf dusting a protesting fresco Annie finally swept in to the large open office area of the administration wing. Inside several young witches sat glumly behind their desks either scribing in large dusty tomes with their quills or waving their wands to fold up bits of parchment into the shape of paper birds, which flapped and flew off through open windows or down the corridor, in the direction of their intended readers.

No sooner had Annie come to a halt than the sad faced young witches sprang out of their chairs to greet her, their glumness temporarily forgotten as they rushed to greet Annie and collectively coo over the baby Robert who, having just woke, gurgled and smiled at the attention the beaming young witches heaped upon him. One of the plumper witches had just taken the large bunch of daffodils from Annie and put them into a large wide vase when suddenly the muffled sound of man voice could be heard roaring from the end office, a high shrill woman's voice cut over the mans thundering voice for a moment before the man boomed back, a few seconds later the man's roaring voice was suddenly cut short by a yelp of pain and a moment later the door to the end office swung open revealing the unmistakable hunched form of Basileus Jeffreys, a particularly meddlesome and disliked Ministry official.

"And what the blazes is that thing doing here" bellowed Jeffreys furiously, spit shower from his fat quivering lips, he glowered down at tiny Jack Russell that stood growling defiantly at him,

"Flea bitten mutt" cursed Jeffreys snarling furiously raising his walking stick threateningly,

"I should have you stuffed and mounted on my wall", Jeffreys paused momentarily, and controlling his rage fixed the other person in the room with a particularly malicious and threatening stare.

"Mark my words" he growled coldly,

"I'll be back, and when I do you'd best be more cooperative" his face still a contorted with malevolent rage Jeffreys stormed across the office yelling at several of the young witches to get out of his way or he would them sent to Azkaban, at the double doors he paused, seeming to notice Annie for the first time.

Jeffreys slowly turned his fat pudgy face and silently leered at Annie for several long moments, there was something oddly disturbing about his silent appraising stare and Annie felt herself flinch at the sight of a strange almost greedy glint, which momentarily flickered across Jeffreys dark malicious eyes. He glanced coldly to his side where the vase holding Annie's daffodils stood and glanced back again at Annie, the hint of a malevolent sneer curling his lips, a second later there was violent flash as Jeffreys walking struck the vase and sent it smashing to the floor.

As Jeffreys slouched from the room Annie and the young witches stood stunned for several seconds, aghast at Jeffreys outburst, finally Annie blinking seemed to return to herself and waving away the still nervous looking young witches, fumbled for her wand.

"Reparo" whispered Annie and the pieces of the vase sprang gently back up into the air, reforming into the shape of an undamaged vase, several of the witches helped her retrieve the flowers from the floor and place them back in the vase as Annie, still a little shaken, took aim with her wand a second time.

"Aguamenti"

This time a jet of water poured out of the tip of her wand like a watering can, water poured into the vase and Annie glanced concernedly down the quiet corridor after Jeffreys, whose thunder voice could still be faintly heard roaring unpleasant threat at a scampering house elf.

Leaving Robert to try and cheer the shocked young witches Annie cautiously made her way past the closed door of the office belonging to here older sister Rosaline and in through the open door of the office which Jeffreys had just left.

The office she entered was wide, spacious and airy. Meticulously kept book shelves lined a number of walls whilst several perfectly placed pictures and numerous grand looking certificates and awards covered much of the remaining wall spaces. A large picture window ran the entire length of the outer wall, granting any within the office a breath taking view of the gardens below.

Annie paused hesitantly, biting her lip as if not sure whether to break the silence of the room, as she gazed its occupant.

Behind a large neatly kept desk sat Annie's mother, Olivia Price. She was a slim, immaculately dressed, elderly woman with silvery hair tide back in a bun. Narrow slotted glasses perched on a sharp pointed nose and she whore tight fitting robes that reached all the way up to the neck where a pedant sat prominently beneath the slight ruffles of a white lacey collar which reached out over the top of her robes. Normally Olivia's slender frame seemed to fill any room, her strict Victorian air and piercing stare enough so silence any that entered through the doors of Wroxeter, yet as she sat gazing sadly out of the picture window, her usually indomitable spirt seemed greatly diminished. She stared sadly at her own reflection in the glass, the watery eyes of the reflection reminiscent in someway of a lost and lonely child.

Olivia seemed to suddenly become aware of someone else's presence in the room and with the aid of a long drawn breath, drew herself up in the chair to her full height before turning in her chair to smile pleasantly across the room at her youngest daughter.

"Hello dear," said Olivia, her voice still noticeably distant and slight compared to her normal firm, austere tone,

"Er, hi mum," fumbled a concerned Annie making her way more fully into the room.

"Why was Mr. Jeffreys here?" she asked timidly. Olivia gave a dismissive gesture with her hand and glanced away,

"Oh, don't worry yourself about him," she replied faintly,

"He just thought that given recent events he could just barge in here and threaten me into making the WI do whatever he wants." She turned her gaze to the little Jack Russell, who was sat in a corner of the room on folded tartan rug and a hint of a smile warmed her pale face,

"Unfortunately for Jeffreys were tougher than we look aren't we Trixabella", the little dog gave out short defiant bark and wagged its stubby forked tail enthusiastically,

"Are you sure you're alright mum?" enquired Annie peering more closely at Olivia,

"I mean, I know times are tough now, but you seem so sad today,"

Olivia sat quietly contemplating Annie for several long moments before silently reaching down and lifting what looked like a long picture frame from behind her desk. She paused gazing down at it, cradling it tenderly in her lap like a mother with a new born child,

"It's silly really," she muttered distantly, the hint of a tear welling in her eyes,

"It's just, there's so many tributes coming in for your grandmother," she gestured to numerous large piles of letters and parchments that were stacked high on the desk and several side tables around the room,

"I didn't really have time to read them all until today," she added faintly,

"But, I couldn't put it off any longer as Sandra is going to have the best ones printed in the Prophet and Witch Weekly," her voice tailed off and she gazed down again at the long framed document in her lap,

"So many touching tributes," she whispered sadly,

"And then I came across this one. It's from Dumbledore" she added beaming a faint watery smile as she handed the framed document across the table to Annie.

Dumbledore's long spidery hand writing was instantly recognizable. Silvery ink gleamed up from a bone white page, whilst on the delicate picture frame tiny carved daffodils swayed sleepily from side to side as Annie read;

"_A fond farewell to the fondest of friends,_

_A eulogy by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,_

_Angelina Lowe was more than __one of the greatest witches of her time; a patient teacher, an unparalleled craftsman and the driving force behind the WI for the better part of a century._

_In the annuals of history future__ generations will read of Angelina Lowe and remember a highly venerated witch of exceptional skill._

_In the guides and tomes for the creation of__ magical items, new generations of craftsmen and women will learn of the great advances and abundant wisdom she so freely shared._

_And t__hose that walk the halls of Wroxeter will remember a witch whose tireless contributions saved and solidified one of our oldest and most beloved institutions._

_But Angelina Lowe was far, far more than the sum of__ her impressive achievements. In a career that would consumed the best of us, Angelina still found the time to give the best of herself to all those around her._

_In__ a world bound by the constraints of time and the demands of work, Angelina still found the time to be an adoring mother of thirteen children as well as countless grand and great grandchildren, not to mention a confidant and inspiration to students and friends to enumerable to count._

_As one of those friend__s, I will forever treasure the times I shared with her, and lament the time I can no longer have._

_Rest well Angelin__a for you have surely earned it._

_And until we meet again I bid you the very fondest of farewells._

_Albus."_

At the bottom of the long framed parchment a photo of a much younger looking Dumbledore smiled up from the page. His beard blew in a strong breeze that forced him to hold on tightly to his hat. Next to him, smiling and laughing, was a slender blonde haired witch with kindly eyes, who clung to another laughing wizard attempting to shield herself from the wind.

Behind the three friends, as far as the eye could see, were wind swept fields of the smiling woman's favorite flowers, daffodils.


	5. Chapter 5 Bitter Sweet Memories

**-**** CHAPTER FIVE -**

_**Bitter Sweet Memories**_

At least an hour had passed since the busy Annie Dobson had been forced to say her goodbyes and head off to collect the girls. Alone in her office once more Olivia Price found herself sitting staring sadly out the window at the sprawling magnificent gardens of Wroxeter below.

The lack of cloud, yielding the first day of fine weather in weeks should have lifted her spirits, yet the voices of the girls working in the office outside, still felt strangely uncomfortable to her, like niggling spears poking at her silent grief. Olivia, the second eldest of thirteen children, was renowned for being one of the strongest, most determined women any witch or wizard could name, indeed many of those who did not truly know her considered her so stern and cold that they doubted that she would grieve for her mother at all. Yet today for some inexplicable reason Olivia felt the death of her mother more deeply than ever before, every object she passed brought back un-bid memories, every room seemed strangely empty yet expectant, as if the castle itself did not know it's mistress was dead, even the mirrors and panes of glass within the castle seemed to flicker with the hint of moment, as if a passing Angelina Lowe had just slipped out of view. The whole experience was making Olivia feel ill, she secretly worried that the stress of the last week had gotten to her, causing her to start imaging things, but this simply not the time for her to fall part, Wroxeter and WI needed her now, more than ever.

Olivia leaned slowly back into her chair, her head resting weakly against the firm gently creaking leather of her chair. She sighed heavily and felt the long drawn breath pass through her body, like a laboriously slow wave. Tired and weakened by lack of sleep from the endless long hours she was now forced to work, she lolled her head absent mindedly. Straining trying to clear her mind of the jumbled mess of random thoughts within, she stared around the room, her gaze finally falling upon one of the many tribute letters to her late mother, this letter however, unlike Dumbledore's tribute did not bring a watery smile to her face.

Partially concealed beneath a large pile of open letters, the distinctive heading and official seal of the Ministry of Magic poked its head out snobbishly. Olivia's wrinkled brow contorted into a heavy frown at the sight of the parchment,

"Couldn't even be bothered to write it himself" she grumbled, a flicker spark of rage dancing across her eyes.

Trying to relax, Olivia readjusted herself in her chair once more and gazed around the room, searching for a distraction to move her tired thoughts away from the Ministry letter. For several minutes her eyes scanned sleepily across the numerous certificates and pictures on her wall, her head feeling heavy on her tired shoulders she rested back more comfortably into chair and stared absentmindedly into space. The cool darkest of her hazel brown eyes deepened slightly and began to spread. Some where in the dark pools a small glow of light appeared and slowly began to circle, it's dim tail growing longer and longer as the dark pools started to swirl as if dragged by some strong deep current, stronger and deeper, until everything was consumed.

Suddenly, with a flinch Olivia stirred, her room was gone, she was no longer sat in the comfortable leather chair of her office. She glanced around to find she was in a large circular room of grey stone; the walls were lined with strange tapestries and numerous framed parchments showing technical drawings of incredibly complex magical devices, two large chalk board covered much of the left wall, each brimming with aryithmantical calculations so complicated that few in the land could hope to understand them, whilst to the side of them on various tables or in glass fronted cupboards, magical items of all manner and description, hovered, glowed and occasion made strange noises as they gave off a small shower of sparks.

The room was instantly recognisable to Olivia, as was nearly every item within it, for they had all been made or collected by the room's occupier, Olivia's mother, Angelina Lowe.

As Olivia gazed around the room, past the countless tiny snow globes on the cascading dresser at the rear of the room, she twitched to a surprised halt. Confusion swept over Olivia's already tired mind as she struggled to understand what was happening, for she now found herself staring at a person who appeared to be her. Again Olivia struggled to make sense of what she was seeing as she stared at the image of herself. The other Olivia Price was sat hands clasped, her body stiff and erect like an overly pompous statue of some famous military figure, a familiar aloof and austere expression adorned her face as she sternly brush a speck of dust off her immaculate black robes. This image of herself was sat next to a large ornately carved desk of silvery marble and gold and as Olivia moved around the room to look at this memory of herself, she was forced to hood back a sob of heart rendering surprise, for their behind the desk, bathed in a shaft of early morning light sat her mother, Angelina Lowe.

Angelina sat peacefully sipping from a cup of tea as she gazed contently out of a tall window at the gardens and trees beyond. Her hair was so white and pale in the sun light it almost glowed like the incandescent glow of a full moon on a clear night, despite her advanced age there was still some hint of the same radiant glow in her cheeks and face, yet their was no denying that the long hand of time had left its mark upon her. Her body was painfully withered and frail looking and despite her peaceful and relaxed posture, the cup and saucer looked heavy and cumbersome in her thin frail hands.

"He's late" snapped the seated Olivia sharply in a high disapproving tone,

"I'm sure he will be here as soon as he possibly can" replied Angelina serenely as she paused momentarily to savor the aroma emanating from her tea cup,

"In fact, I'd imagine he'll be here any moment", a slight smile played across Angelina's face and no sooner had the old woman spoken than there was a quiet knock at the door.

The door opened and a young witch with two men behind her poked her head hesitantly through the door.

"The Minister for Magic and associate to see you head mistress" murmured the girl in a quiet timid voice,

"Thank you Katie" replied Angelina kindly,

"Would you please show them in", the young girl stepped aside and with a nervous bow and wave of her arm, directed the two men into the room.

Olivia's already stern expression hardened significantly with obvious distain as she noted who the Minister for Magic's companion was. To Fudge's side the snarling sweaty face of Basileus Jeffreys leered at Olivia and her mother, the black malicious eyes darting around beneath his thick bushy eyebrows.

"My dear headmistress" announced the Fudge, smiling courteously and bowing slightly as he thumbed the ridges of lime green bowler hat.

"What a pleasure it is to see you again"

"And you too of course Olivia" Fudge added hastily, yet it was evident from his hesitant expression that he anything but delighted to see the stern and austere Olivia sitting in the headmistresses office.

"And of course you both must know my Ministry associate Basileus Jeffreys"

"We've met" replied Olivia curtly, noting that the Jeffreys hadn't even bothered to remove his hat, let alone make an attempt a civil greeting.

Instead the hunched Jeffreys stood beside Fudge his black malicious eyes still darting back and forth between the two women, his grumpy snarling face contorted up like a particularly ill tempted warthog.

"It is such a pleasure to see you too my dear Cornelius" beamed the elderly Angelina up at Fudge,

"It's been such a long time, I do so lament that your work has kept you from visiting our halls for so long",

"Won't you both please sit down", she smiled graciously and gestured towards two ornate chairs which waited patiently in front of her desk.

Fudge continued to smile courteous as he lowered himself into the seat, but something in smile now looked dawn out of false, as if something in Angelina Lowe's warm greeting had now made him feel awkward or uncomfortable.

"Right, well" continued Fudge trying to adopt an authoritative tone as he fidgeted in his seat, avoiding the womens' expectant gaze.

"Were all very busy people so I think it best that we get this unpleasant business over with a swiftly as possible",

"I agree" replied the seat Olivia in a high clear tone, Fudge glowered at her momentarily and then continued speaking, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"I'm glad you extended your invitation for this meeting" he continued trying to sound as official as possible,

"As obviously there are certain serious matters that need to be addressed",

"I think it's a good sign" continued Fudge,

"That you seem to have accepted that there is a problem, and by inviting us here today I'm sure we can resolve this situation without the Ministry having to, use direct involvement".

The two women exchanged slightly confused glances.

"I'm sorry Cornelius" replied Angelina after a moments pause,

"But I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about", it was now Fudge and Jeffreys turn to exchange slightly confused glances,

"I'm referring" answered Fudge, a tinge of agitation creeping into his voice,

"To the secretive campaign of propaganda coming out of Wroxeter, supporting Dumbledore and his ludicrous claims that _he who must not be named_ has returned of course",

"I'm sorry Cornelius" replied Angelina Lowe patiently,

"But I am not aware of any such publication"

"That's because it's not on paper or in a leaflet" barked Fudge frustratedly,

"For if it were we'd have caught the culprits by now"

"No, we believe that some group of individuals within these walls is waging a propaganda campaign for Dumbledore, spreading Potter stories by word of mouth to any that will listen",

"Why shouldn't they do so if they see fit" interrupted Olivia loudly,

"You've got the Daily Prophet printing whatever rubbish you tell them to", Fudge sprang out of his chair as if Olivia's words and had been a spell, which had set fire to the backside of his robes, his face filled with thunderous rage,

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing" roared Fudge pouting his chest and thrusting an accusing finger at Olivia,

"I'll say what I like" snapped Olivia Price shrilly, spring from her chair and to confront Fudge,

"When last time I checked people have the right to say what they want, to whom ever they please"

"I knew it!" hissed Fudge with a sense of triumphant rage,

"I knew before we stepped through these doors, that you'd be involved",

"You never liked me, you were always pushing for Bartie Crouch as Minister for Magic, I bet you just couldn't wait for an opportunity like this to plunge the dagger into my back"

"Well" snapped Olivia, slapping Fudges accusing finger out of her face,

"It might disappoint you to know that I'm actually not behind this so called propaganda campaign and further, more neither I nor my mother have the faintest idea what you're babbling about",

"Utter ogre dung!" boomed Jeffreys lumbered from his chair,

"You've as good as admitted it. I'll see to it that you're clapped in irons and sent to Azkaban for this _Price_", he spat the name out maliciously, as if was a particularly rude word,

"I'd like to see you try" retorted Olivia coldly and she fixed Jeffreys with a stare so icy that room itself suddenly felt a few degrees cooler.

"Cornelius, please, enough" called Angelina who had finally struggled from her chair,

"I really don't know what you're talking about Cornelius, but I can assure you that no member of my staff or any organization of students known to us is currently operating such campaign"

"She a lying!" boomed Jeffreys contemptuously.

Olivia stern and icy demeanor was gone in an instant,

"Question my mother's word again and I'll hex the remaining hairs off your head, you wretched little toad of a man" she snapped furiously rounding on Jeffreys. Jeffreys face contorted with such rage that he looked like his face might burst, there was a flurry of movement as the seething Jeffreys snatched for his wand, but the speed of Olivia Price was alarming.

Jeffreys had barely placed a fat hairy hand into his robes when Olivia's wand appeared with blurring speed, halting a mere inch from Jeffreys nose,

"You dare draw a wand on a Ministry official" hissed Jeffreys,

"You try to pull a wand on me and I'll do more than just draw it" retorted Olivia sharply.

A shocked looking Fudge took a step back and started to fumble for his own wand.

The next second there was a sudden thunderous crack, so loud that Fudge, Jeffreys and Olivia all winched and clutched at their ears as bright arching forks of lighting tore around the room, racing each other in opposite directions.

"Enough, please" said Angelina Lowe in quiet but firm tone,

Her ornate and oddly shaped wand was still pointed high in the air and seemed to be flashing and glowing ominously as if the lighting that had struck moments ago was somehow contained within the slender wand.

"Olivia, Basileus, kindly restrain yourselves" she took a long intake of breath to steady herself, as if the effort of cast the spell had sapped some of her already limited strength.

"Cornelius, I give you my word, I don't know what you're talking about" continued Angelina in a low tired voice,

"Don't listen to her Minister" muttered Jeffreys quietly, shuffling towards Fudge but refusing to take his eyes of Olivia for even a moment,

"We've heard enough to know they're lying",

"No Jeffreys" replied Fudge softly,

"I've known the headmistress for a long time, I know she would not lie to me" he continued to gaze at Angelina, lost in quiet contemplation,

"It's a trick Minister" sneered Jeffreys, momentarily flash a malicious glance in Angelina's direction,

"There is no other explanation as to how Potter and Dumbledore's lies are being spread around, if you're not involved",

"There but one explanation as to how this can be happening" replied Angelina quietly,

"It must be Wroxeter" Jeffreys snorted loudly,

"What is this" he sneered,

"Your lies are even more pathetic than Potter's",

"W..Wroxeter?" muttered Fudge mutedly,

"Yes" replied Angelina softly,

"Many of the busts and paints are linked to each other by one means or the other, they see and hear everything within the Castle" she turned her gazed passively to Fudge for a moment,

"I'm surprised you hadn't considered this yourself Cornelius" she added,

"I seem to remember you particularly enjoyed conversing with the statue of Nicoli the Machiavellian when you were a young boy", Jeffreys glanced from one to the other, he glowered expectantly, waiting for Fudge to laugh or berate the elderly witch, but Fudge simply stood rooted to the spot, pale faced, his mouth opening and close like a large fish.

"In that case as headmistress" snapped Jeffreys,

"You're still guilty, it's your responsibility to control these, flapping mouthed effigies" he railed,

"I'm afraid Mr. Jeffreys" answered Angelina calmly,

"That you don't seem to understand the nature of Wroxeter Castle"

"I serve Wroxeter, Wroxeter does not serve me",

"This Castle was here long before I was born and will remain long after I am gone" Jeffreys opened his mouth to retort but he was cut off by a still stunned looking Fudge,

"Wroxeter?" he murmured again mutely,

"But what could I have possibly done to offend the Castle?" it was now clear by Fudges expression that rather than confused by Angelina's statement, he was apparently upset if not a little mortified at the notation that the Castle was against him, a sentiment the bewildered Jeffreys did not seem to grasp.

"Well" leered Jeffreys, attempting to re-seize control of the situation,

"If you can't control the offending busts and paintings, the Ministry will remove them",

"Oh really" replied Olivia Price snootily,

"And what about the irreplaceable fresco's and carvings that have survived for a millennium, planning to just smash them off of the walls are you?"

"If I must" glowered Jeffreys silkily, his face alight with malevolent pleasure at thought,

"Come Minister, we've heard enough", Jeffreys seized the dazed looking Fudge under one arm started to pull him in the direction of the door, but Fudge refused to budge, a bemused look now swept across his face as he gazed puzzled back and forth between the two women,

"If you didn't know anything about all this" he croaked,

"Then why did you extend your invitation for this meeting?" the mood in the room seemed to become more somber almost instantly.

Olivia stiffened slightly, and taking a deep breath drew herself up to her full height, gazing down her sharp nose at Fudge through her narrow spectacles.

Whatever the reason was, Fudge was sure he wasn't going to like it, as even Olivia looked slightly hesitant to discussing it.

"Well Minister" Olivia began, adopting a sterner more official sounding tone,

"Ironically, it was to discuss similar matters, but in a different context"

"I don't understand, what are talking about?" asked Fudge warily,

"I mean Minister, we are becoming increasingly more concerned by the situation that has arisen between the Ministry and Dumbledore", there was now an increased sense of tension in the room, both Fudge and Jeffreys had shuffled slightly forward, peering intently at Olivia as if trying to second guess what she was hiding.

"Define, _concerned_" drawled Fudge, his eye now reduced to almost slits,

"I mean" continued a stony face Olivia,

"That this ridiculous situation has now reached a point where we maybe forced to intervene",

"What?!" snapped Fudge loudly,

"You said you were involved in this matter with Dumbledore, are you saying you'll publicly back him against me"

"I can't believe it" barked Fudge, his face now full of furry,

"You of all people headmistress, after all you promised my mother", Fudges comment seemed to wound Angelina as surely as if Fudge had struck her with a jinx, she stared mournful at him trying to speak, but lost for words,

Fudge, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull, straighten himself to his full height and cleared his throat loudly,

"I sorry to say" he continued mustering his most authoritative sounding tone,

"That if that is your decision then I shall have no other choice than to deal with you the same way as I have Dumbledore",

"Oh stop this ridiculous charade Fudge" snapped Olivia,

"You _know_ he's back and…"

"_HE's NOT BACK!_" hissed Fudge through clenched teeth,

"_Yes he is_" retorted Olivia harshly,

The two stood glaring at each other for several long moments, until Fudge finally turned back towards Angelina, now pointedly pretending that Olivia simply didn't exist,

"Very well" chimed Fudge in a high clear tone, as he gazed down angrily at the headmistress,

"You leave me no other choice. If you publicly intend to support Dumbledore and this… rubbish, then the Ministry shall have no other alternative, than to intervene in WI matters, and ensure that this lawlessness does not continue", behind Fudge Jeffreys sneered malevolently in delight.

To Fudge's side Olivia cleared her throat loudly, but Fudge continued to act as if he could neither see nor hear her,

"I'm afraid Ministry" replied Olivia coolly,

"That you have the wrong end of the broom stick" Fudge paused his jaw locked with silent mounting rage, finally he turned and glared Olivia expectantly, refusing to speak,

"We have no intention of publicly declaring that he's back" she added coldly,

"What?" spluttered Fudge in enraged confusion,

"What is this farce, first you're with Dumbledore, the next minute you're not…"

"Oh, were with Dumbledore" added Olivia with a particularly cold glare,

"But you people must think us fools if you'd assumed that we'd go down the same path as Albus, after all you've done to him" there was now a bitter contemptuous edge in Olivia's voice,

"We don't have to say one word about Dumbledore to fix the pair of you" she sneered angrily,

"All my mother has to do is call for a vote of no confidence in your leadership Fudge and you'll be out",

"Ridicules!" roared Jeffreys at the top his voice,

"You've got no chance",

"Oh really" snapped Olivia,

"Serius Black, escapes Azkaban, still uncaptured. A mass break out of prisoners from Azkaban, covered up. The Dementors abandon their posts. People dying or going missing, all without arrests. All under your governance Minister."

Fudge looked quite ill, he flinched at each stinging comment, getting paler and paler by the second.

"That list alone should be sufficient on the grounds to have you removed for negligence or incompetence" boomed Olivia,

"But I can go further, how about I have you charge with sedition and abuse of authority",

"Enough, Olivia" called her mother quietly, but catch up in her furry Olivia was deaf to her pleading,

"How you like it Minister if I dragged your name through the mud like you have Dumbledore's" she growled accusingly,

"You seem to forget that my eldest daughter Rosaline still has a son at Hogwarts" she continued,

"I have been receiving daily report on what that poisonous little toad Umbridge is up to. Had her draconian decrees been verbal you might have gotten away with it, but given her extraordinary arrogance she has made the mistake having had them made into official educational decree's, decree's bearing your signature Ministry, decree's which I have obtained a copy of each from my dear old friend professor McGonagall", Fudge was by now as white as a ghost, he turned forlornly to Angelina, his voice almost aquiver with shock.

"You'd, you'd actually, do this to me?" he simpered,

"You, of all people. After all these years" he croaked horsley,

"After what you promised?"

"Cornelius I…" Angelina's face was as pale as Fudge, her woe and concern virtually a mirror Fudge's expression,

The fury of the room was suddenly pierced by the sharp clattering sound of breaking china, Olivia turning gasped and rushed around the table to where the thin and frail Angelina Lowe was crouched on one knee clutching at her chest, panting painfully.

"Mother, are you alright?"

Fudge too, his face aghast in horror, attempted to assist the ailing witch, but Jeffreys caught him firmly by the arm,

"Come Minister" leered Jeffreys, a smug contemptuously spreading across his face,

"But" simpered the pale faced Fudge,

"You've heard what they said Minister" whispered Jeffreys quietly into Fudges ear, his eyes now alight with malicious glee,

"They plan to send you to Azkaban. They don't understand how your actions all for the greater good of the community" whisper Jeffreys slyly,

"But I can't just…" faltered Fudge,

"It's you or them now Minister, victory or Azkaban" hissed the beady eyed Jeffreys,

"They don't understand what it's like to be under the pressures you are Minister. They don't understand what it's like to make tough decisions, for the greater good", the confused and shocked Fudge nodded his head slightly, mumbling quietly under his breath,

"Yes, for the greater good"

"That's right Minister" hissed Jeffreys, now guiding Fudge towards the door,

"You need to be strong now, for the wizarding community's sake. Their relying on you Minister" Jeffreys beamed wickedly as Fudge stumbled along in front of him like an obedient Inferi,

Don't you worry about this Minister" he added with a snake like smoothness, as he ushered Fudge through the door,

"You focus on Dumbledore, I'll take care of these traitors", Jaffreys stopped and turned in the doorway, surveying the scene with a broad malicious grin,

"Things are going to change around here, mark my words".

The room once more seemed to spin slightly, pools of colour gently swirling together, spinning, stronger and faster. Olivia stirred and opened her eyes, blinking as she realized she was back in her own office, roused from the dreamlike distant memory she had drifted off into. As she tried to shake the drowsiness from her mind, she caught sight once more of the letter of condolence from the Ministry of Magic.

With an angry flick of her wand the document shot up into the air, floating in front of her.

A letter of condolence from a man, who'd put her mother in an early grave.

A letter of condolence from a man, who now openly admitted that Voldermort was back.

A letter of condolence from a man, who couldn't even be bothered to right the letter himself, after all Angelina Lowe had done for him.

She tried hold back her anger, to remember the word her mother had spoken, saying to blame Fudge and the Ministry, but it was no good. With a cold icy stare and a second flick of her wand the letter burst into flames and then descended slowly in a twisting snaking column of ash across the room and into the bin.

Olivia sat back in her chair, the letter now gone, trying to purge all thought of the unpleasant memories from her mind. Finally she felt her thoughts slip to her mothers last day, how frail and tiny she had looked in her giant four poster bed, almost like a pale china doll, to precious and frail to hug.

With the ghost of a smile she recalled how the huge wooden paneled room had been filled, almost to the brim, with the surviving members of Angelina's thirteen children, grand and great grand children. She watched the memory almost dream like as the sun through the window shone on Angelina's silvery white hair and bed robes. She bit her lip and held back a tear hearing her last words as she quietly finished nursing the latest member to her family and with assistance handed the tiny baby back Annie and Roderek Dobson, her eye's struggling to stay open with weariness as she smiled up at them and said "I expect you'll call him Robert".


	6. Chapter 6 The Unwitting Helper

**-**** CHAPTER SIX -**

_**The Unwitting Helper**_

It was a busy day in the kitchen of Wroxeter castle. Piles of laundry and plates floated through the air, crossing each others path with alarming speed. Pots and pans jumped up and down in hot bubbling water, like eager children in a swimming pool, whilst large wooden spoons spun round and round in enormous pudding bowls, mixing ingredients for the next meal of the day.

Around the many sturdy tables and cupboards of the kitchen, there was an equal blur of activity. Numerous house elves in bright tea towels of purple, silver and white, sped up and down between the tables, casting spells and carrying objects, their bald heads bobbing up and down between the tables, like apples in a turbulent stream.

At the largest table in the kitchen, stood a slightly plump pretty faced witch. She was middle aged and wore robes of brown and white. Her hair, which feel in lose curly strands around her face, was mousy coloured and partially hid a small child like nose, on top of which she wore thin rimmed reading glasses on a narrow chain.

The woman stared at a piece of parchment on which she'd been jotting notes. She paused, caressing her cheek with the feather of her quill thoughtfully for a few seconds, then with a final flourish, she stood nodding happily at the completed list.

"There we go Varon." said the woman in a cheery tone. She turned and handed the list to a tall, particularly gnarled looking house elf, in a spotlessly clean apron with numerous pockets. The old house elf screwed up his already heavily wrinkled face, and squinted at the list.

"Not many tasks on the list this week, Mistress Chitterturn." croaked the old elf in a deep gravely voice. "Varon knows that attendance to classes has been down in recent months, because of _he who must not be named_. But with Mistresses Lowe's upcoming funeral…Varon thought…Varon thought." The old elves voice lowered and tailed off. He lowered his head and turned away, clearly not wanting her to see that tears had started to well in his eyes, at the mention of his former Mistress.

Catherine waited patiently, a look of some concern on etched on her face.

"I know what you're thinking Varon," murmured Catherine comfortingly. She crouching down, trying to meet the old house elves gaze. "But it's too soon to start preparing. The funeral won't be for several days."

"But many guests will come Mistress Chitterturn" protested the old house elf, turning to face her once more. "Many hallowed guests will come to pay their last respects to Varon's Mistress. To Mistress Lowe."

His voice quivered again, but this time he refused to look away, instead the elf held is his chin high, meeting Catherine's gaze almost definitely. "It simply would not do. To besmirch Varon's Mistresses good name, by not being ready for her guests. People who were so dear to her in life."

Catherine sighed heavily. It was too early to start preparing for the funeral, but the house elves of Wroxeter had greatly felt the loss of Angelina Lowe. Many had been rejects, often badly beaten and thrown out by their former masters. Yet the kindly head mistress, had over a period of many long years, taken in and nurtured many of the tiny creatures. The pretty toga like tea towels they wore, were far removed from the grotty rags many had been found in. Their abodes, likewise, had been specially created from the old laundry cupboards, altered so that each house elf that slept there, had their share of comfort and privacy, yet at the same time allowing the house elves to mingle and make friends, if they so pleased.

Angelina Lowe had been an angel to each of them. A bright shinning star, who truly understood the house elves need to server, as well as their desire for caring, affection and dignity. Angelina's passing had been a terrible blow to them. Almost daily Catherine was called to the teacher's lounge, to recover another inconsolable house elf, who whimpered and wailed at the many smiling pictures of their former mistress.

"Very well." replied Catherine after a long pause. "I'll trust you Varon to make the necessary arrangements."

"But", she added quickly.

"Only preparatory arrangements. You can't go baking cakes or hanging banner this early. Please just do enough to ensure that any guests that arrive early, will be taken good care of." The old house nodded and gave a low and gracious bow,

"It will be done Mistress Chitterturn." he croaked in a still slightly shaky voice.

"Varon has also taken the liberty," he added, "Of preparing Mistress Chitterturn's basket, for her afternoon walk to her mothers." The old house elf snapped his wizened fingers and a large straw basket floated across the room.

"Oh. Thank you Varon." Stammered Catherine in pleasant surprise, and the old house elf bowed graciously again.

"Mistress Chitterturn is most welcome" croaked the old elf. "Varon knows how much Mistress Chitterturn enjoys her walk."

Catherine smiled at the old elf and was just about to thank him again, when there was a sudden thunderous crashing noise behind them.

She turned startled by the noise, to see several house elves scurry, panicked around an overturned table. In front the table a pair of small legs flailed around helpless beneath a mountainous pile of laundry. Catherine bent over, and grabbing both of flailing legs, plucked a gasping house elf out from beneath the mountainous pile of clothes.

"Wibbly, you troll brained clot!" roared Varon, snatching up a nearby a rolling pin, and sprinting at the younger elf. The elf with his huge goldfish bowl sized eyes, shrieked at the sight of the enraged Varon and darted behind the leg of a nearby table.

"No Varon, stop!" shouted Catherine hastily. The aging house elf, came to an immediate halt almost as if frozen by some spell, yet he continued to glare menacingly at Martlebee, ringing the rolling pin angrily in his old gnarl hands.

"Wibbly is so sorry Mistress Chitterturn." Whimpered the glassy eyed elf, as he peaked fearfully around the table leg, in the direction of the glowering Varon and his rolling pin.

"Wibbly was being so very careful watching the clothes Mistress, that he did not see Martlebee and the pudding bowl." He gestured over his shoulder, to where a second elf was staggering around drunkenly as several others tugged and pulled at a large pudding bowl, which had somehow become wedge on his head.

There was sudden slurping pop as the struggling elf was sprung free, and like a cannonball was propelled across the room, where he bounced off a nearby cupboard, causing a milk jug and several expensive looking plates to come crashing to the floor.

A muted gurgling roar emanated from Varon's throat, as he was forced to stand and watch as the two accident prone elves continued to wreck his kitchen.

"It's alright, it's alright." called Catherine hastily attempting to defuse the situation as the look in Varon's eyes was murderous. She reached quickly into her robes and pulled out her wand, then moved swiftly to help clear the mess.

Having restored order to the kitchen once more, Catherine turned back to the house elves, staring concernedly between the murderous stares of Varon and the terrified quaking glances of Wibbly and Martlebee.

"Oh Varon," she said softly, "Please don't make me _order you_ not punish these two. You're head house elf, it wouldn't be right. I need to be able to trust your judgment."

"They made a mess of in my Mistresses kitchen." Growled a glowering Varon. "They needs to learn."

"But you're too severe with them Varon." replied Catherine, "Just look what happened last week. You could have killed poor Martlebee with that frying pan." She gestured toward the far wall, were the startled facial expression of Martlebee could still be seen, perfectly imprinted in the surface of a large frying pan.

"He pulled down the curtains in the teachers lounge." Protested Varon.

"Yes, but it was an accident Varon. You can't go beating up the other house elves for that." Varon continued to glare, looking anything but convinced.

"Look." Said Catherine, "Nearly every house elf in this building was thrown out by their former masters, but Angelina gave every elf a chance, a chance for redemption, a change to server with dignity, a chance to be happy. I think it would be a pretty poor way to repay your Mistresses memory, by punishing house elves as new and young as these."

Varon paused, his jaw moving from side to side grinding his teeth, as he considered Catherine's words and slowly his expression seemed to soften.

"Very well Mistress Chitterturn." He croaked, "Varon bows your wisdom, Varon will not punish the young ones for accidents. But," he added loudly, "If I finds dem lazing around or up to tomfoolery, it's the rolling pin for dem!"

The two wide eyed young house elves nodded nervously and then scampered from the room as quickly as their tiny legs could carry them.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief and feeling that she could now safely leave the kitchen, without returning to a war zone, Catherine gathered up her basket and head for the door.

There was still something of the unnatural chill in the air outside, yet the weather in general was by far the best in weeks, no dreary clouds smeared the sky and the uninhibited sun shone brightly, its hazy rays doing much to warm the strange chill from the air.

Catherine's foot steps rang out loudly on the cobbled stones of the side courtyard, as she strode past the stables, pausing only to wave at her husband Morris as she passed. Morris, a burley balding man with numerous visible burn marks, was feeding four winged horses, who were stabled in the large horse shoe shaped building next to the coach house. The warm musty smell of straw and hay wafted across the yard towards her, yet it slowly faded away as she strode along the edge of the sprawling castle and turned left in the main courtyard. The usually busy courtyard was still as quiet as it had been in recent weeks and she passed through it, and up the long tree lined drive without bumping into a single soul.

As the occasional witch or wizard whizzed over head on their broom Catherine started to feel the tensions of her week slowly easing from her body and mind. She looked forward to her weekly walk to her mothers, it was the greatest release she had from her hectic daily schedule and although she could easily fly the short distances to her elderly mothers, she admittedly wouldn't miss her walks for the world.

As she turned off the drive and into the quiet country lane, the trees gave way on the far side of the road to reveal rolling fields of wheat that swayed in the breeze, happy to once more be blessed with the kiss of the golden sun. Catherine walked contently soaking up the sun and surrounds, all concepts of time and troubles draining from her mind as she watched birds, squirrels and the occasional Bowtruckle frolicking in the canopies of the trees.

After several minutes of peaceful strolling, the road ducked down through an S-bend of tightly packed trees and opened out again to reveal a cool babbling ford, the road beyond was decorated in pools of shadow and light as bushy oak trees grew so close together, on both sides of the road, that the suns rays could only squeeze between their tall trunks in long shafts of light. As she watched, stray leaves rattled gently along the road, pushed by a gentle breeze that finally carried them into the babbling ford where they bobbed down stream like tiny boats.

As Catherine approached the ford and felt the cool bite of the breeze that blew down the long road, she noted to her surprise she was not alone. A man in a dark hooded cloak stood on the narrow foot bridge that crossed the ford, gazing up stream. She almost halted in mid stride as something about the man felt out of place, but just as she was about to stop she noticed the man raise a daffodil to his face, as if it sniffing reminiscently. Catherine reprimanded herself quietly for being foolish, the man surely must have been an old friend of Angelina Lowe's visiting Wroxeter, no doubt he had merely sought out a quiet place to reflect on old times.

Catherine resumed her course, the heels of her long leather boots ringing out as she stepped onto the wooden planks of the narrow foot bridge. The hooded figure continued to gaze thoughtfully up stream at the fields beyond, his face still obscured by the folds of hood.

Not wanting to disturb the man's thoughts or be unduly delayed in her travels to her elderly mothers, Catherine strode across the footbridge as swiftly and as quietly as possible and having passed the hooded man, felt the first of her footsteps meet with the quieter surface of the grey chipped road. Privately she heaved a small sigh of relief but inwardly felt guilty for having thought ill of the man, whom she now left behind her as she strode up the road.

She switched her basket back to the other hand and was starting to hasten her stride when something strange happened. The air seemed to stiffen slightly. She tilted her head puzzled, trying to work out what it was that felt unusual, she was just about to steal a glance back at the man on the bridge when there was a sudden bright flash from behind her and a loud sharp crack, a searing heat that made the hairs on her neck stand on end spread through out her lower back and then, one by one, her limbs all trembled and went dead.

Her basket crashed to the floor spilling its contents over the road. Her legs buckled under her and she crashed down onto her knees hard, yet she felt no pain. Her body waived for a moment like a blade of tall grass in the breeze and then pitched forward, colliding sharply with the ground.

She wanted to shout out, but her mouth was as numb as her arms and legs. Her head lay against the ground like a dead weight, the stone chips pressing hard into her rosy cheeks, her hazel eyes staring fixed straight ahead, unable to move, unable to blink. Her glasses had fallen off as she crashed to the floor and without them she could only see clearly several feet in front her, the trees and wheat fields beyond now nothing more than ghostly blurs.

As she lay helpless, the sound of her own pounding heart rang alarmingly in her ears, yet as she listened to its terror-stricken beat, it leapt sharply again and seemed to paused.

The sound of long laborious foot steps could now be heard, slowly approached from behind.

As they drew nearer a lone daffodil landed mere inches away from her face, a moment later a highly polished black boot stepped forward, slowly and deliberately grinding the tiny helpless flower under its heel maliciously.

The foot stepped back out of view, and a moment later hooked itself under Catherine's shoulder. With a wrenching heave the boot flipped her over like a dead fish, but Catherine's blurred and fixed staring eyes, could only make out the green haze of the canopy of the trees directly above her.

A blurred hooded figure stalked around her, at the periphery of her sight, watching her, studying her. The figure reached up and slowly pushed back the dark hood, the outline of a wand in its hand, but the figure was still to far away to see.

Slowly the figure crouched down right next to her, its slow laboured breathing now audible to her. It lifted its wand and with the tip, brushed it against her face, slowly tracing the line of her features in a macabre and ritualistic fashion.

She strained to see, yearned to yell, but she was a prisoner in her own lifeless frozen body, only the panicked thoughts and silent screams inside her mind moved unhindered.

An arm now reached across her as the figure slowly leaning into view, their faces now only inches apart. Her eyes flickered with a mixture of horror and shocked recognition, as her quaking fixed eyes stared up, unable to look away from the dark soulless eyes that stared back at her, so dark, _so dark_.


	7. Chapter 7 Bogweed & Grindylows

**-**** CHAPTER SEVEN -**

_**Bogweed & Grindylows**_

"Ew! Merlin's beard, that's _disgusting._"

Roderek turned and glanced back over his should, looking for the source of Rodney's disgust and dismay.

The two men were stood in the middle of a shallow lake, which had formed in one of the narrow valleys belonging to the rugged range of hills, known in these parts as the Long Mynd.

Suppressing a grin at Rodney's unusual facial expression, he watched as Rodney tugged at one of his legs, which had apparently sunken into a soft spot at the bottom of the lake, allowing the murky brown water to flood over the rim of his long leather boot. There was a squelching pop as Rodney freed his foot, then began gingerly wading in the direction of the shore, his face twisted with a mingled look of discomfort and disgust as he squelched along.

"Ew, look it that, it's like Hill Giant boogies" moaned Rodney, pouring a slimy brown mixture of water and mud from his boot. "Ack, and smells worse than it looks." He grimaced as he sniffed at the boot tentatively, and then held it away at arms length, his tongue hanging out, almost gagging from the pungent smell. "There must be bog weed in this lake." he groaned mournfully. "Oh that's great, that's just the icing on the fairy cake. What a Troll's backside of a day. The Dark Lord's returned, Nigelius Tyler is murdered less than ten miles away, there's a hundred and one important tasks to be done, and what have they got us doing?" he grumbled dejectedly. "Hunting a ruddy escaped Grindylow." He grimaced uncomfortably as he timidly attempted to pull his still moist boot back on.

"I mean this is the sort of stuff you give to youngsters or apprentices, not to two of the finest wizards the Harpers command."

Roderek raised an eyebrow at Rodney's boastful remark, but continued to search through the murky water with a long stick.

"Oh come on" barked Rodney dejected still struggling with his boot, "You can't tell me you're happy with get this of all tasks."

"As a matter of fact," answered Roderek coolly, "I am glad we got given this task, because it's the only one we could finish in time."

"In time for what?" inquired Rodney raising an eyebrow suspiciously?

Roderek sighed and paused to lean on his stick. "Ok. Look, I didn't want to say anything just yet, because I knew you'd just get over excited. But if you're going to moan like a ghoul with gout all morning I might as well tell you."

"Go on" added Rodney, his interest already lifted to the point that he didn't seem to notice his soggy boot anymore.

"Look in my bag" called Roderek back over his shoulder, resuming his search of the wayward Grindylow.

Rodney enthusiastically thrust a hand into the bag and rummaged around for a few seconds, before plucking out an object,

"Galloping gargoyles!" exclaimed Rodney,

"What's that?!" he was handling a long spherical object of many bright colours, which was about the length of his boot. "It's amazing" exclaimed excitedly, rotating the object in his hands and eyeing it with a surprised sense of awe.

Roderek turned around, a puzzled look on his face. "No, not that" he replied

"That's my tartan thermos."

"Oh" replied Rodney sheepishly, "Err, what exactly is a tar-tan ther-mos away?"

"It's a Muggle device Annie bought me from the market." mumbled Roderek still trying to concentrate on his hunt for the Grindylow, "It keeps warm things warm and cold things cold."

Rodney raised a bemused eyebrow at the news, "But, you've got brimstone broth in here. That stuff stays hot for days away way."

"I know" replied Roderek mutely, "Look, it's a gift. I've got to use it or Annie might get upset, and why are talking about tartan thermos's anyway?" he added in bemused frustration, "Just put it back before you break it so something. What I'm talking about is the bottom of the bag."

Rodney gingerly placed the thermos back in the bag, handling it as if he expected it to break or explode at any moment. He carefully rummaged around in the bag once more, and several seconds later plucked out an envelope. "It's got the Harpers seal on the back" he announced in surprise. "Why would they give us orders in a sealed envelope." he asked quizzically.

"Ozerick Dytch slipped it to me this morning whilst we were leaving the Halls" called back Roderek, still combing through the water carefully.

Rodney hastily opened the envelope and started to read. "We've got to meet up with your dad at Acton farm." he muttered, reading under his breath. "Hang on" Rodney added hastily, "That's one of the places where they do that secret ecology stuff isn't it?" added Rodney with a pleasant air of surprise. "I thought only Harper elder dealt with that stuff. But I'm not complaining." he added hastily. "That's defiantly more like it. Just think, we'd be the youngest Harpers ever to be involved in this stuff. I can't wait to rub that prat Brantly's nose in this!" beamed Rodney brandishing the parchment somewhat triumphantly.

"Keep reading" called back Roderek.

"Err, ok" murmured Rodney,

"Oh. Were only escorting him" Rodney now looked positively crestfallen.

"_Keep reading_" called back Roderek again.

"Ok, ok, keep your robes on. Err where was I? Oh yes, were to escort your dad from there to… _no way_" Rodney's face now lit up with a look of exhilaration and surprise. "The Tyler mansion. But if were going there we must be…"

"Getting directly involved with the investigation into Nigelius Tyler's murder." relied Roderek, completing his old friends sentence.

"Well what are we waiting for." roared Rodney, stuffing the parchment hurriedly back into the bag and wadding out into the water, with huge hasty strides. "Come on. Let's just use magic."

"No." retorted Roderek hurriedly. "There's Muggles in the valley next door." he called back over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely in the direction of where the two men's dogs, Snow and Azelfur, sat patiently watching the Muggle valley beyond.

"You know we can't risk it, it's to…" Roderek paused.

He had the familiar sinking sensation in his stomach, that he'd felt many times before. He turned instinctively, just in time to see Rodney aiming his wand at the murky lake, they both currently stood in the middle of.

"No, stop..." yelled Roderek, but Rodney was clearly lost in the hurried world of his own thoughts,

"Don't use a…" but it was too late. Rodney had just completed casting his spell, and there was a suddenly roar as the lake seemed to explode.

Roderek shielded himself with his arms, as all the water in the lake zoomed into the air, as if gravity had violently been reversed. A second later water, stunned fish and huge globs of foul smelling mud came pelting back down.

The sound of the water sloshing back into place slowly faded away, and a less than pleased Roderek slowly scoped a large glob of bog weed from his shoulder, as he glared at Rodney, who was struggling to remove a partially stunned fish from the hood of his cloak.

With sharp jerk Rodney scooped the struggling fish back into the lake and the two men stood gazing at each other for a moment, looking like a bedraggled scarecrows, their clothes soaking and hanging loosely from their limbs.

"Did you see it?" asked Rodney hopefully.

"Funnily enough, no I didn't." growled Roderek disgruntledly, as he started to wade towards the shore like a particularly stiff penguin. "It's hard to see anything when you're being dowsed with a hundred gallons of dirty brown water, stunned fish and a ton of bog weed."

"Well it worked last time." grumbled Rodney defensively.

"That's because last time, we were stood _next_ to the lake, not in it." replied Roderek curtly, as he started ringing out his wet robes.

"You do realise, we've only got a couple of hours to find this thing and transport it up to MearMynd sanctuary." continued Roderek, now emptying murky brown water out of his boots.

"And because of that little trick of yours, it will be twice as hard to find the Grindylow now you've scared it. Assuming you haven't already made it run off further down stream."

Rodney was now staring around the lake with an almost crazed look of panic,

"I know." he shouted, "I tell you what, I'll just use a summoning charm."

"Well make sure you do it from the…" but once again Roderek's comment came a second too late.

"Accio Grindylow" roared Rodney.

There was a slight ripple in the water and Rodney turned grinning, his hands poised, expectantly preparing to catch the Grindylow as it burst out of the water. But instead an explosion of movement came from suddenly from Rodney's left. He turned quickly trying to keep his balance but the Grindylow, charging through the air like a cannonball, struck him with such force that the pair fell flailing backwards into the water. Seconds later a bedraggled and gasping Rodney appeared from beneath the surface, holding the struggling Grindylow at arms length.

"Oh, Merlin's pants that's disgusting." moaned Rodney splashing to his feet and wading towards the barrel, which they had placed at the lakes edge.

"I think I just swallowed some of that lake water. Ack, it tastes worse than that rhubarb and Flobber worm soup Hagrid gave us in our second year.

Roderek shuddered instinctively at the memory of sampling some of Hagrid's experimental cooking. Ruing the day he'd agreed to deliver letters from the Harpers to Hagrid, whilst he and Rodney were at Hogwarts.

Rodney struggled to the shore, as two men's dogs bounded up to the barrel, where Roderek had removed the lid and help Rodney place the violently struggling Grindylow inside.

"Right." announced Rodney bagging the lid tightly shut. "Don't suppose you remember any of Annie spells that might clean this mess up." He asked hopefully, gesturing at the two men's soaking wet clothes.

"I think so, give me minute to think" replied Roderek staring off into space, a moment later he recalled the spell Annie had used when their daughter Lynn, had fell in the stream playing pooh sticks, and with an approving nod took aim at Rodney's robes.

"Steady now" warned Rodney wearily. "Make sure it's the right spell before you use it on me. I don't want my underpants exploding to the size of a hot air balloon". Roderek momentarily smirked a mischievous grin as if entertaining the idea and gave his wand a flick.

"Dryge rapidus." Roderek's wand tip glowed, and a second later a burst of hot air gushed out, circling around Rodney with dizzying speed.

"Excellent." exclaimed a thoroughly impressed Rodney, inspecting his now warm dry robes. "Don't suppose you've got a spell that can remove the stink of this bog weed do you?" he asked hopefully. "We smell like we've spent a weekend washing a couple of hair ogres arm pits." he added with disgust as he sniffed at his robes.

"No, I don't." replied Roderek.

"And we don't have time to go home and get changed. So let's just go, hopefully the walk up through the valley will help shift the smell a bit."

Within minutes the two men where striding along the narrow footpaths of valley walls, their two dogs scouting ahead whilst Roderek and Rodney took it in turns levitating the bobbing barrel along the twisting path.

The Long Mynd was something of an unusual place, a range of rugged wind swept hills and twisting valleys that ran along the western border of the Stretton Vale, the Mynd was so large that it took three days to walk it's length and a full day to walk it's width, from east to west. The Muggles, under the Statute of Secrecy, had been led to believe it was a place of great natural beauty that should be protected, and as such few Muggle lived or travelled across it. This was a situation that the local wizards and Ministry of Magic went to great length to maintain, for the many unexplored valleys and forests contained numerous sanctuaries, which had been setup for the protection of various magical plants and creatures.

It was to one these sanctuaries that Roderek and Rodney now headed, as they climbed their way upwards along the edges of the steep twisting valleys. Heather and dense patches of bracken stuck out of the windswept hillside and the occasional outcrop of well weathered rock jutted out barring their route, causing the narrow footpaths to veer randomly like a snake as they slowly rose up through the hills.

After nearly an hour's walk, the men had followed the steam up through several valleys to a small water fall. As the dogs scampered around the high trickier path, the two men scaled the slippery moss covered rocks, which ran along side the water fall. At the top Roderek approached the solid rock wall and placed the tip of his wand on a small bone white rock the size of a fist and muttered an incantation softly under his breath. There was a slight pause, suddenly the small stone started to hum and vibrate violently and moments later, with much crashing and crunching, the numerous boulders that made up the wall of stone started leaping and bouncing out the way, like giant bouncing Quaffles. They stacked themselves neatly to one side, revealing a long narrow ravine, through which the stream had ran previously unseen, to the top of the water fall. The two men followed the high twisting walls of the ravine for several minutes, until it final opened out grandly, revealing an enormous lake concealed within an impressive basin shaped valley.

The sides of the valley were steep and stony, forming a barrier that no Muggle could pass on foot. Tall fur trees dominated the open ground between on the east and southern shores, whilst along the pebbly beach of the western shoreline, a collection of tiny interconnecting timber buildings could be seen in the distance, some of which were partly built out into the water.

As Snow and Azerfur scampered ahead towards the buildings, Rodney and Roderek paused, taking in their surrounds.

"Core, it's been a good few years since we were up here last." mused Rodney staring around at the secret sheltered valley.

"I know." replied Roderek gazing out across the calm surface of the lake, "Look, silver swans." gasped Roderek in a pleasantly surprised tone. Sure enough, as the two men stared off into the distance, three silvery feathered swans, gleamed magnificently in the sunlight, drifted effortlessly across the surface of the lake, their elegant moments barely leaving a ripple on the surface of the water.

"And what's that?" asked Rodney quizzically, as he gestured across the water, cupping his hand to his eyes, trying to get a clearer view.

What appeared to be an especially large fish, had surfaced a short distance behind the silvery swans. It was quite a size, almost as big as the men's dogs. The fish's scales glittered in an almost constantly changing myriad of colours in the sunlight, whilst its wide mouth was so oddly shaped that it almost looked as if the fish were grinning.

It swam with surprising speed around the silvery swans, wagging its tail like an overly excited dog, and grinning mischievously. The swans paused, watching the toothy fish wearily. Seconds later the elegant birds were forced to take flight, as the evilly grinning fish charged at them, shooting long jets of rainbow coloured liquid at them, as they scattered and fled.

"Ruddy stupid fish to have in the lake." muttered Roderek grumpily, as he mournfully watched the retreating silhouettes of the silvery swans, "Why would they have a thing like that in here, must drive half the other creatures in the sanctuary mad."

Rodney continued to steal glimpses across the lake, as they crunched their way along the stony shore, hopefully of sighting the rare and beautiful birds once more, but to no avail, the evil grinning fish had done a good job of scaring them away.

The walk down to the collection of tiny buildings did not take long and soon enough they greeted by an old but familiar sight. Beslow Rodgers stood in the doorway to the tiny building puffing at his long narrow pipe.

"Well, well," beamed the elderly Harper, "This is an unexpected pleasure." he added puffing contently at his pipe. "I didn't expect to see you two of all people. Was expecting em to send a couple of youngsters. Got my runaway Grindylow have ya?" he asked.

"Right here." called out Rodney smiling at the old Harper, as he taped the hovering barrel with his wand.

"Hi Beslow," smiled Roderek, stepping up on to the porch and firmly shaking Rodgers's outstretched hand. "It's really good to see you again. We keep expecting to see you at the Hall's but..."

Rodgers snorted with amusement. "Bah, got no time for politics Roderek. You should know that by now." He added, "Any how, I guess you'd best come in, so we can sort that Grindylow out, before he scratches his way through that barrel." He turned and beckoned them to follow him into the tiny wooden hut behind him.

The room inside although tiny, commanded a spectacular view of the lake outside. The hut was partially built out into the water, which combined with the view and the gentle lapping sound of the water, made the room feel like a tiny boat, restfully floating on the water. A rough stone chimney dominated much of the rest of the room, where a large black pot was boiling contently over a gentle fire, whilst the remainder of the room was consumed up by numerous bookcases and few, tables and chairs, which were very worn looking.

As the men packed into the tiny space Rodgers reached up to one of the meticulously kept bookshelves and fished out a book.

"Right." he added opening the barrel, "Lets take a look and see if it really is my Grindylow you've caught."

"I bloody well hope so." Frowned Rodney "I've had enough of Grindylows to last me a lifetime."

Rodgers snorted with amusement again, and a second later, with a single fluid motion, he snatched the flailing Grindylow out of the barrel and jabbed it with the tip of his wand. Sparks spluttered from the end of the wand as it touched the creature's skin and the Grindylow went instantly limp, its eyes rolling and its tongue hanging out stupidly.

Rodgers laid the creature out on the table next to the book, and inspected what appeared to be a neatly drawn diagram of a Grindylow. "Yep, that's my Grindylow alright." muttered Rodgers, pointing between an almost unperceivable marking on the Grindylow and the diagram in the book. "Good job boys. Oh and you'd better sign the log whilst I remember." he pulled down a second book and scribbled something in it before handing it to Roderek, who leaned in close to the old man, to sign the log.

"What in the name of Neil Harpers hammer is that smell?" enquired Rodgers recoiling and grimacing at the pie eyed Grindylow. "Did you find it hiding in Troll dung? Cause it reeks like it's been eating Bog Weed or something."

Roderek started to turn a violent shade of pink around the sides of neck and fired a silent accusing glare at Rodney, who was pretending hard not to notice, as he edge his way towards the fresh air of the doorway.

"Never mind." muttered Rodgers, scoping up the Grindylow a little gingerly and heading towards the rear door.

The two men followed Rodgers out to the rear of the building, where several small interconnection ponds had been dug into the stony beach, each lined with long timber planks. Rodgers kicked a latch that closed the gate to the last of the pools, and gently lowered the Grindylow into the water. The cool water seemed to rouse the creature almost instantly and it sped off to the far side of the pool, where it scowled and gestured rudely with its long stick like fingers.

"What are you doing that for." asked Rodney as Rodgers took several scoops of wriggling bait out of a bag and cast it into the pool next to the Grindylow.

"Going to use them as bait to catch the rest of the Grindylow, so I can move em off down to the Stipperstones pools." replied Rodgers.

"Why are you doing that." asked Rodney.

"Because of that pesky Otga Fish of course." grunted Rodgers irritably, "It's the reason this fella ran off down stream in the first place." He added.

"An Otga Fish?" replied Rodney, a dawning look of comprehension slowly stealing across his face. "So that's what it was. We saw it earlier. It was shooting some rainbow coloured liquid at a pack of Silver Swans."

"Ruddy thing!" roared Rodgers, pacing out along the wood planks of the wharf. "It's been nothing but a pain in my rear end since it arrived. Dam thing does nothing but eat and antagonise the other creatures all day and night."

"So why's it here." asked Roderek.

"Ruddy Ministry lot brought it didn't they." muttered Rodgers tersely. "Told em this wasn't the right place to bring it, but the idiots had already let it lose in the lake. Absolutely clueless some of them lot are. They should have let me keep the thing out of harms way in one of the tending pools." he gestured over his shoulder toward several separate hunts, further up along the stony beach. "But they were in a right hurry to get shot of it. They'd been hunting it for almost six weeks see. Dam thing had been driving Muggle fishermen down south mad. Showing himself and pretending to be caught and all, caused a bunch of em to fall in the river. One Muggle nearly downed, so the Ministry had to step in." he started puffing away at his pipe vigorously,

"Muggles." he muttered,

"I mean, whoever heard of a fisherman that couldn't swim?"

"Why Stipperstones pools." enquired Roderek trying to distract Rodgers thoughts from the mischievous Otga Fish. "I thought Grindylows hate mineral water." Rodgers turned, a smile returning to his rosy cheeked face as he chuckled.

"I see your old dad's teachings haven't been lost on you." he smirked, eyeing Roderek appraisingly.

"And well spotted, Grindylow don't _like_ mineral water, but they _can_ survive in it. But" he added gazing intently at Roderek,

"Stipperstones pools have a lot less minerals in the water than most people think, the pools maybe small but there all interlinked, nice spot for a small group of Grindylow. They will be out of harms way down there." Rodgers paused again puffing at his pipe, as he gave Roderek another long appraising stare. Although this time there seemed to be something noticeably more cold and calculating in the stare of dark eyes.

The sound of Rodney clearing his throat loudly in the background broke the long silence and Roderek glanced instinctively up at the sky, checking on the position of the sun.

"It's getting late." Murmured Roderek, still a little confused and unsettled by the unusual look, which Rodgers has fastened upon him.

"We'd best be getting back." He nodded and smiled faintly at Rodgers, as he turned to join Rodney.

"Aye." called Rodgers after them, "Don't want to be late for you're trip to Tyler Manor."

"How'd you know about that." gasped a stunned Rodney, spinning back around. "Our orders were sealed." Rodger's merely smirked and puffed contently on his pipe, still fixing the two men with the same long cold appraising stare.

Roderek's eyes darted around the collection of tiny buildings, then fixed on single nearby hut. "Heck of a lot of owl droppings by that hut," he commented quietly, "Seems you get an awful lot post up here for a mere sanctuary."

Rodgers grin broadened slightly and the coldness in his stare seemed to soften for a moment, "Just like you're old dad. Don't miss a trick do you boy." He whispered, "That's good. Cause I've got a feeling you'll be needing those sharp senses of yours, soon enough."

Rodney, whose mouth was forming silent questions, that hadn't yet formed properly in his mind, stepped forward as if about to question Rodgers's unusual comment, but Roderek, who had been staring questioningly at Rodgers, suddenly turned, and grasping Rodney under the arm started to stride off down the stony beach.

"What does he mean by that?" asked Rodney in a hushed tone, "He must be talking about what were going to be doing at Tyler Mansion right?"

"I'm not sure," replied Roderek quietly lost in thought, "But whatever it he meant, he wasn't going to tell us. That was obvious to tell, just by looking at him." Rodney frowned.

"Well how come he knows so much?" he whispered hoarsely even though they were now a safe distance away from the tiny buildings.

"Don't let that not liking politics stuff fool you." murmured Roderek, "Rodgers is as sharp as they come. He's been friends with dad ever since they joined the Harpers. He's turned down a post as an elder three times, passed up the last one up to Ozerik Dytch."

"Why would he do that?" asked Rodney puzzled.

"He told the Harpers he didn't want to get involved in that kind of stuff, and that he loves the simple life of looking after creatures more, but that's obviously not true." He added glancing back over his shoulder. "Quite a few people say he likes it up here, because he's got so much free time and nobody to disturb him. Plus there are loads of rumors about who he's in touch with. I don't think even Dytch or my dad even knows who he is sending all those letters to."

The two men glanced back again in the direction of the tiny hunts, where Rodgers's lone shadowy figure could still just be seen, silhouetted against the lake.


	8. Chapter 8 Amongst the Trees

**- CHAPTER ****EIGHT -**

_**Amongst the Trees**_

The afternoon was wearing on and the two men had made good time traveling from Mear-Mynd sanctuary, they had used the Harpers grooves to travel out of the Long Mynd hills in the west and travel to one of the most easterly grooves on the very outskirts of the Stretton Vale. Wilderly valley it's self was a rather steep wall placed, heavily lined with trees and somewhat isolated, a perfect location for any large wizarding farming estate. Ravenous the two men stopped at the top of the long stony track that lead down along the valley wall to the large sprawling farm house below and trekked up the slope into the woods, until they found a small secluded clearing in which to stop and eat. Rodney sprawled luxuriously against a fallen log, whilst Roderek, resting his back against a tall tree, rummaged through his bag tossing pork pies and strange looking purple fruit to across to Rodney. The two men munched greedily for a while, until their immediate hungry pangs were satisfied and then became more relaxed, as Roderek reached inside the bag once more for two thick porcelain cups and the thermos, from which he poured a thick yellowy liquid that continued to gently steam and pop, as if it were still in a cauldron above a blazing fire.

"Will you look at that." exclaimed Rodney with mock surprise, as he took one of the cups,

"Your tar-tan ter-mos, kept the brimstone broth, hot."

"Who would have imagined that?"

"That weird Muggle contraption keeping Brimstone broth, which stays hot on it's own for days" he added,

"Hot, for a whole morning", he continued to make over the top face expressions of fained surprise, goggling at the cup as if something truly miraculous had happened,

"Oh shut up." murmured Roderek grumpily, eyeing the gregariously coloured thermos dubiously. "Just drink it will you."

The two men feel silent again for several moments, as they took several long gulps from the bubbling liquid, before throwing back their heads and drawing in a long cool breath before puffed smoky rings of white cloud into the air,

"Oh yeah." exclaimed Rodney, his eyes watering slightly, "That's the stuff alright. I tell ya, Annie might not be quite up to the standard of your mum's cooking, but that's good Brimstone broth in any mans book." He lent back against his log, smacking his lips with his tongue savouring the flavour, as he gazed up at the clear sky above.

"You know what." he murmured, absent mindedly gazing down at his cup, "It's the wrong weather for broth really."

"I know." replied Roderek still spilling peacefully from his cup, "But who was to know we would have such fine weather today. I mean look at the last couple of weeks, that unnatural chill in the air all the time, the darkness. Good thing we had the broth to perk us up." Rodney, still gazing at the sky, nodded somewhat sadly.

"I know" he replied a little gloomily, "Wonderful stuff that broth, always perks me up, reminds me of when we were kids." Rodney interlaced his fingers behind his head and gazed once more at the canopy of the tree and sky above, something in his thoughts clearly improving his mood.

"Do you remember what it was like." he asked Roderek dreamily, "Your mum's Brimstone broth in winters, her Merlin's whisper pudding at Christmas. Eating choco balls and pepper imps next to the lake after exams at Hogwarts." He rolled over on to his side and gazed at Roderek, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You know what we should do?" he asked in a low but excited whisper, "We should treat ourselves. Send an owl to Honeydukes and load up on all those sweets we used to love as kids." Roderek paused, mid bit of his apple. Rodney did kind of have a point. In the weeks since the Dark Lords return, life had been anything but pleasant; the mist, the cold, the constant worry, people going missing. The stolen day of sunshine had been the first break from the constant pressure and fear, with all their fooling around it almost felt like things were normal again, but Roderek knew they were not. The Dark Lord was not a cloud that simply blew away.

He continued munching thoughtfully on his apple as Rodney continued to stare expectantly at him.

"You know what." replied Roderek, "Why not. It won't hurt anyone."

"But" he added hastily, "Make sure the delivery goes to your house, not mine. If Annie sees how much were about to spend on sweets, she'll hex my ears off."

"You drama queen." Sniggered Rodney chuckling loudly, "The worst you get off Annie is a playful but stern teasing, you big baby."

"Not true." retorted Roderek swiftly, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rodney, "What about the time we ended up with detention for a month, cleaning all the telescopes in the astronomy tower because we gave Michael Pincer and Adrian Spool those giant pig ears."

"Annie was furious I missed the Valentines Day trip to Hogsmead because of that. And" he added wagging his finger, "That was entirely your fault."

"That doesn't count." moaned Rodney, "That was school, you weren't even married."

"Alright." replied Roderek quickly, "What about the ninety three Quidditch cup finals?" Rodney spluttered, his mouth opening and closing with low indistinguishable sounds, as he searched for a suitable excuse.

"Well firstly, you were equally to blame for that." he replied, "And secondly it shouldn't count, seeing as we hadn't actually done anything wrong. Wasn't our fault Annie thought we'd left the girls at the game, when your dad had them."

"Doesn't change the fact that given another minute Annie would have hexed the hair off my head, if dad hadn't walked through the door with the girls." retorted Roderek sharply, "And a fat load of use you were trying to explain the mess. Lying on the floor hooting and making flapping your arms like an owl, at least I could stand up."

"You lying…" snapped Rodney, pointing an accusing finger of his own,

"Clinging onto the kitchen taps, whilst Annie's mother pores Chaltelburys sobering elixher down your throat does not qualify as _standing_."

"Besides" moaned Rodney, "Your not the one who got the most heat from that incident. I swear Annie's mother blames me for all that."

"As a matter of fact," he added,

"I recon Annie's mum has always had it in for me, ever since we were teenagers."

"Well perhaps you shouldn't have told her you thought one of her oldest friends was a _snotty old battle axe._" chuckled Roderek with a wry smile,

"How was I supposed to know she and McGonagall were friends!" protested Rodney loudly,

"Er, well." said Roderek, "I'd think your first clue should have been the enormous picture of Olivia and McGonagall on the wall of her office." he sniggered, "Honestly Rodney, your a Harper and you couldn't even spot a clue like that, what more do you need a large flashing sign or a troop of dancing pixies singing 'Olivia and McGonagall are best of friends'?",

"Oh sod off." mumbled Rodney dejectedly, at his broadly grinning best friend.

The two friends fell silent again as Rodney returned, somewhat grumpily, to gazing at the sky as Roderek continued eating.

"Roderek," called Rodney, his voice returning to its earlier complacent tone,

"What." replied Roderek finishing the last of his apple,

"Do you ever think about it, Hogwartz I mean."

"I what sense." asked Roderek bemused by the question,

"You know. Do you miss it, wish you could go back and do certain things differently."

"What like stop you hitting that bludger into Madamme Hooch and costing us that game against Slytherine." asked Roderek playfully,

"Oh come on, I'm being serious." complained Rodney,

Roderek paused mulling the idea over in his mind for several long moments,

"Not really." Replied Roderek in a quiet distant tone, "I mean, I guess I've always just been so busy, or too content with life the way its been, what with you, Annie, the Harpers and the kids, life's always seemed so full."

He paused and gazed at Rodney thoughtfully for a moment,

"And this might sound odd, but I've often thought that my life felt like I had a purpose, and that I must be following that purpose because things just feel, right."

"Does that make sense?" Rodney did not respond, he simply lay there looking equally lost in thought,

"I do sometimes wander what happened to certain people." added Roderek,

"Especially these days, I keep expecting to open the Daily Prophet and see that someone we went to school with has disappeared or been killed."

"What about you?" he paused and gazed quizzically at Rodney, pondering what might provoked this unusual strain of thought in his old friend.

"I don't real care what happens to people we used to go to school with." answered Rodney a little abruptly,

"I mean, I don't wish them ill or anything like that, but we still talk to all the people who were friendly with us, but I do often find myself day dreaming about how I would have done certain things differently."

"Anything in particular?" asked Roderek,

"Well," muttered Rodney shifting uncomfortable and sounding a little defensively,

"Obviously I'd have preferred to have hit Barbury Grint with that bludger instead of Madame Hooch. I mean it was two week until the other Griffindors would speak to me again." The two men grinned at each other sharing the momentary joke,

"I guess," murmured Rodney in a low voice,

"When you think you can see the end coming, you find yourself looking back at all the things you've done, and all the things you wish you could have done better." he stared off once more into space, a distinct yet obvious sense of sadness visible in his eyes.

Roderek was just about to try and say something to sooth his old friends thoughts when there was a loud snap behind them.

The two men flailed and sprung to their feet as quickly as they could, strange looking fruits and biscuits falling to the floor as they hurriedly struggled to their feet, fumbling for their wands.

At the edge of the clearing a tall hooded man, stood in the shadows of the trees. He was lean and tough looking, dressed in a similar leaf scale cloak to Roderek and Rodney, only his appeared to be darker and well worn. The hood the man's cloak cast long shadows over his face, hiding so much of it only his long hook noise and heavily scared chin protruded into view. A few long dark grey hairs straying outside of the shadows, and the equally grey hairs on his scared chin showed the man to be advancing in years, yet nothing about his appearance made him look weak or frail, in fact there was something almost predatory about the way he moved, his narrowed eyes surveying the two men from within the deep shadows of his hood, like a wolf studying his prey.

"Merciful Muggles." gasped Rodney clutching at his chest, "You scared the life out of us."

"He's not wrong." agreed Roderek lowering his wand and heaving a heavy sigh of relief,

"You know, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that Kynaston." muttered Rodney, "I mean we could have killed you."

The man slowly and deliberately raised his foot off the broken branch and it was plain to see that Kynaston had _not_ stepped on it accidentally.

"Oh no." groaned Rodney gazing down forlornly, "Now look what you've gone and made me do. I've gone and split brimstone broth all over my nuts." Rodney stooped over and picked up a soggy packet of Hazel nuts he'd been saving for later, which now were slowly disintegrating under the bubbling mustard coloured broth that now coated them. He continued to stare at them forlornly, as Roderek hurriedly put the rest of there things back into his bag, as he stole glances back at the hooded man.

"Come on Rodney it's time to go."

The three men and their dogs hastened out of the woods and back on to the long twisting dirty road, which coiled its way down along the heavily wooded valley walls. Still a little embarrassed by having been caught so off guard by Kynaston, the two friends hardly spoke a word on the long walk down the road, even though Kynaston and his large wolf like dog Beezelbub were walking a good distance in front of them. The valley walls eventually began to retreat, spreading out into a flat enclosed valley, protected to the sides and rear by jagged looking hills.

The road now turned lazily and swept towards the opposite valley wall, forcing the small band of companions to cross a wide ambling ford, where the remains of an old broken carriage rested, it's weathered and pealing paint highly visible in the clear sun light. The road continued to amble lazily along the valleys edge for several long minutes, before a curtain of tall fur trees finally gave way to reveal a large grey stoned farm house.

Kynaston, with his long flowing strides, was by now well in advance of the two friends and for some reason diverted from the path and strode up the side of the rugged looking farm house, heading towards a collection of smaller buildings. Musing about Kynaston's detour Roderek and Rodney continued along the stony main path, down to the farm house. The friends paused to pass through a wide wooden gate and started along the footpath that lead in front of the orchard to the front door of the farm house beyond. As they passed along the orchard's edge, Roderek tilted back his head and breathed in deeply, enjoying the fragrant crisp smell of the trees, the dull ache of his muscles temporarily forgotten. He was just about to take another long cleansing breathe when he realized that the crunching sound of Rodney's footsteps on the gravel path had slowed, to an almost complete halt. He turned to gaze back, noting as he did that Rodney was stood, his eyeballs wide and his jaw sagging, as he gawped dumb struck in the direction of the orchard.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Roderek, "You look like you've been confunded."

Rodney raised his arm in a dream like daze and pointed, his jaw still hanging open wide enough to catch passing pixies.

"Look." Whispered Rodney hoarsely, finally regaining his ability to speak.

Roderek peered into the thicket of trees. He glanced all around, from tree to tree, but was unable to spot the source of Rodney gaze of wonderment. He was just about to turn back to Rodney when he thought he glimpsed a flash of movement.

He'd only seen it for a fleeting moment out of the corner of his eye, but he'd sworn he had seen one of the trees move. No, that couldn't be right, something _among_ the trees must have moved. Turning to face the trees he peered into the shade of thicket. The tree where he'd seen the flicker of movement was right at the very heart of the orchard. It's bark was darker and far more course than the rest of the other trees and the ridges of it's bark stood out almost a full inch. The tree's trunk was equally unusual it sagged, almost arched to one side, more so than any tree Roderek had ever seen before, yes trees didn't always grow straight, but this one sagged completely, from the ground up, as if it had lost all strength in it's one side. Even though it was clearly just a strange looking tree Roderek took a somewhat hesitant step forward, onto the green grass of the orchard and as he watched intently he could have swore he saw the tree move again. The tree had stiffened slightly then sagged, it's numerous leaves rustling slightly as if the tree had just taken a long deep sigh.

The two friends exchanged stunned silent stares and then hesitantly started to creep forward into the shade of the orchard. They walked slowly, almost dreamlike, towards the shaded tree. Again the tree moved as before and Roderek gasped, for as it moved this time he could clearly see the shape of large face on the old and knotted bark. The face was long and thin, like the tree, it's bottom lip and eyebrows where almost as pronounced as the large knot that made up it's nose. The tree sighed again, it's leafy branches rusting again as it did so, the two friends froze at the sound but were now close enough to tell that the sighs were, in fact, long slumbering breathes. The tree was sleeping, it's long trunk and leafy head lolled to one side.

"What is it?" whispered Rodney quietly,

"I'm not hundred percent sure," whispered Roderek back,

"But I think it's a Schwarzwald Oak,"

"A what?" whispered a confused looking Rodney,

"A Schwarzwald Oak." replied Roderek, his eyes glittering in wander at the sight of the slumbering tree,

"They're rare, you can only find them in the most secluded parts of the Black Forrest, in Germany." He added, gazing up and down at the tree, soaking up the sight like a young child seeing a brightly coloured Christmas tree for the first time.

He reached out a hand, holding it mere inches for the rough surface of the bark, which moved in and out with the gentle sleeping breathes of the tree. The two men glanced at each other and exchanged boyish grins,

"Now _this_," whispered Rodney, "was worth getting covered in bog weed for." He grinned a toothy smile and peering intently at the face of the sleeping tree, still lost in wander at the unusual sight.

"But why is it here?" added Rodney, momentarily taking his eyes off the tree, to peer quizzically at Roderek.

Roderek shrugged.

"I'm not sure." Replied Roderek,

"I'd heard some talk a while back between Dytch and my dad, about the Ministry and the Harpers trying to revive the population of talking trees."

"Then you heard a good deal more than you were supposed to young man." came a loud voice behind them.

The two friends were about to flash a glance back over their shoulders to see who had spoken, when suddenly Rodney found his face mere inches away from a huge pair of bright yellow, saucer shaped eyes. Rodney let out a yelp of shock and started to staggered backwards at speed and a second later an echoing, haunting moan, the likes of which the two friends had never heard before, filled the air. The staggering Rodney tripped over a tree root and crashed into Roderek, knocking the pair to the floor in heap. The sound of laughter now filtered through the air, from the direction of the path, as two men strode over and helped Roderek and struggling Rodney their feet. The first was a tall and balding man who the pair instantly recognised as owner of the farm, Morris Ruckley. The second was a pleasantly plump man with tufty grey hair, an almost radiant smile and calm, kindly looking eyes. Like Roderek and Rodney the man too whore a leaf scale cloak. Chuckling, the smiling old Harper reached out a hand and helped the two friends back to their feet.

"Er, hi dad." mumbled Roderek a little bashfully, as he shot Rodney a somewhat agitated sideways look,

"Er, yeah, hi Sam." blurted Rodney as he hurriedly brushed himself down, his face flushed with a pinkish tinge of embracement. Samuel Dobson, stood smiling pleasantly as puffed from his stubbly bone white pipe for a moment, the warm calming smile beneath the twinkling pale blue eyes unfaltering and then stepped between the two friends heading in the direction of the Schwarzwald Oak. It was only now that Rodney realized, that the startled woken tree was muttering in a deep melodious voice, yet it words it uttered were totally unintelligible. As Samuel Dobson place a calming hand on the tree and started to speak back in the same unintelligible language Rodney gawped again back and forth between Roderek at the tree, his face lit up once more like a child on Christmas morning. After several long moments Samuel Dobson finished talking with the disgruntled tree and pating it comfortingly turned back toward the assembled men.

"Core, didn't know you spoke different languages Sam," marveled Rodney almost reverently,

"What was that German?" he added,

"Not exactly," answered Sam, his eyes twinkling in the shafts of sun light, cutting through the canopy of the trees,

"You see, this here fellow," he added gesturing over his should at the tree,

"Speaks ancient Germanic."

"Why a Germany speaking tree?" asked Rodney, "Don't we need English speaking ones" Samuel Dobson chuckled,

"Yes, we do, but there aren't any left. During the dark ages before the statue of secrecay the Muggles didn't just burn Witches and Wizards" he said,

"They burned anything that they thought of as evil, including the old talking trees. Sometimes they burned down whole forests," he added sadly,

"All the trees that survived like the Tall Oaks and the Quick Silvers, hid their voices, just as we hid from the Muggles. Slowly over time the trees forget how to speak in the language of men and now they only speak to each other, in the secret imperceptible way of the trees." Samuel turned and once more ran his hand fondly over the dark colour bark of the trees, "Schwarzwalds," he added "All the wisest of all the remaining talking trees, that's why they survived the dark ages. This fellow volunteered to be brought over here to help resort things to the way they once were."

"It volunteered?" stammered Rodney,

"Of course it did," smile Samuel, "You don't think we'd bring a tree all this way against his will do you?" Rodney's jaw flapped soundless, trying to find the right words, but Samuel merely smiled pleasant at him and continued,

"Schwarzwalds are so clever this fellow will soon learn how to speak our language, then well bring down Tall Oak and Quick Silver saplings, so he can teach them. Then well will be able to start introducing them but into the sanctuaries and forrest." He smiled and gazed fondly up and down at the tree once more. The air hummed strangly again as the trees spoke softly in its melodus voice to Samuel. He nodded thoughtfully to the trees words and started to cast and carefully appraising eyes up and down the tree and around the orchard.

"Ar-ha," added Samuel in a triumphant tone. He stooped down and dug up a hand of palish brown soil.

"Here's your problem," he said spreading the dry looking soil across his palm, "This fellow's sucking all the nutrients out of the soil. No wander he's sleeping so much."

"I don't understand it," mumbled the farm, pushing past Rodney to inspect the soil,

"I make sure he watered, I've used my very best fertilsers on him. He's had a barrow of dragon dung alone this week so far."

Rodney glanced down at his hands and tried to brush them clean on his robes more vigoursly.

"Not to worry," replied Samuel, "I know just want he needs. I'll send one of my men over tomorrow with a special potion, put three drops into his water each day. Oh and before I forget, you'd better prepare the bottom eighth field. I'll have someone bring the seeds over on Monday."

The farmer smiled and thanking Samuel for his time disappeared back into the house to jot down the various notes from their earlier discussion, as the Harpers, including Kynaston who had now reappeared, exited the farm and strode off back up the road, giving occasional furtive glances, back in the direction of the talking tree.

As they walked Samuel puffed away merily at his pipe, his other hand tucked into a pocket of his robes, smiling happily and almost care free in the direction of the warm sun. The two friends walked a few paces behind, muttering to each other quietly, as was normally their way. To their side and several paces back, Kynaston and his giant wolf like dog lurked, constantly walking just within the shadows of the trees.

Glancing at Roderek, Rodney quickened his pace until he was just about level with Samuel Dobson.

"So," said Rodney trying to sound nonchalant, "Sounded like you were telling him what to grow back there. I mean that stuff with the bottom eighth field," he added.

"Not telling, suggesting." Corrected Samuel pleasantly, "You see years ago we used to have terrible problems with shortages of foods and materials. Many pure bloods won't touch stuff produced by Muggles." He added, "So the Ministry put some of their people in Presto and started taking stock lists from Diagon Alley and Hogsmead, so they could predict how much of certain raw goods they'd need for the coming months. We in turn do our bit by coordinating the farmers to make sure those needs are meet."

"Oh," said Rodney looking a little stunned, "I never realized this ecology stuff was so involved."

"Thought us Harper elders just sat at our desks writing meaningless records did you?" chuckled Samuel, fixing Rodney with a playful stare. Roderek grinned as Rodney fell silent, his cheeks and ears turning pink with embracement.

"So what's going on up at Tyler Manor?" said Roderek asking the one question that he and Rodney both truly wanted to know.

"I mean the orders only said to escort you their. Is it still dangerous? Are you expecting Death Eaters still be lurking around?"

"I hope not," said Sam smiling pleasantly, but his mood seemed noticeably subdued. Roderek mused for a second and he continued to gaze at his father, not much ruffled Sam, but the issue of what had happened at Tyler Manor was clearly weighing on his mind.

"So why do you want us their?" he asked after a long pause,

"Tracking," replied Sam, "The Ministry has official requested our presents at Tyler Manor, so we can carry out and provide a tracking report."

"What?" snapped Rodney, "Why would they do that? I mean it has to be Death Eaters, why would they care which Death Eater did it, unless… unless, they think it was the Dark Lord himself." Roderek and Rodney both suddenly felt very cold, despite the sun, they glanced at each other and then at Sam, who continued to stare straight ahead.

"Well," he said as he calmly glanced across at the two friends, "We shall find out the answers to these questions soon enough, won't we."


	9. Chapter 9 The Mysterious Murderer

**- CHAPTER ****NINE -**

_**The Mysterious Murderer**_

_**of Nigellius Tyler**_

The trip to Tyler Manor took a little over an hour. With apperation out of the question, the group of men had use the Harpers Groves, the hidden groves containing a circle of white stones, and walk the remain distance.

Tyler Manor lay just outside the Harpers territory, on the opposite side of a long sharp hill called Warlocks Edge. The Manor house lay at the bottom of a steep cliff, with a jaggedly swerving road that zig-zagged back and forth, down to the large four storied Victorian building. Two official looking figures stood waiting patiently in front of the building, whilst third, who tipped his bowler hat politely at them, stood watch at the bottom of the zig-zagging road.

"Mr. Dobson is it?" said the short of the two men, a fussy looking, balding wizard in pinstripe robes. He reached out and shook hands pleasantly with Sam.

"My name is Wetworth, I am from the Ministry offices in London, and this," he added, gesturing to the tall sallow faced man next to him, "Is Mr. Fitzsimmonds, who you must obviously know, seeing as he is the head Aurora for the Salop Vale area." Sam and Fitzsimmonds exchanged polite nods as the balding pinstripe wizard fumbled with his clipboard.

"So, it's a full report," he added gazing at his paperwork, "You brought three trackers so as to provide three independent views?" he glanced up past Sam at Roderek and the other Harpers, "Ah, yes, excellent." He added, "Well the building has been fully locked down since last night, so as to not contaminate the crime sense. Mr. Fitzsimmonds and his Auroras were the first on the scene so he is here to help indentify any tracks belonging to Ministry officials." He paused for moment, fumbling hurriedly through the numerous forms on his clipboard, "So, Mr. Fitzsimmonds will remove the warding charms and let your men in, whilst in the mean time you can provide me with your men's details." In a business like manner he whipped out a quill and started to scrawl Roderek and Rodneys names as Sam recited them to the balding pin striped wizard. The towering sallow faced Fitzsimmonds, lumbered over to the door and almost lazy started to wave his wand. As he chanted the air around the building started to glitter as if a previously invisible wall was now barely visible, the barriers of the warding charm glittering like tiny stars. He started a second incantation and a glowing symbol appeared in front of the door and then gently faded away, taking the shimmering shield around the building with it. Fiztsimmonds slowly stowed his wand and lumbered over to the front door, opening it wide and staring cold faced at the Harpers as they entered. Roderek and Rodney slipped past the tower Fiztsimmonds into the musty smelling, old Victorian manor house. The pair paused, gazing back at the sound of Fitzsimmond muttering. They turn just in time to see Fitzsimmonds scowling heavily at the shadowy Kynaston as he past, muttering something, which appeared to be unpleasant judging by the expression on his face. Kynaston paused like a statue for the briefest of moments and then moved on, giving no indication that he had heard anything Fitzsimmonds said.

"So then," droned the pinstriped wizard stepping over the threshold with Sam. "The building is yours. You will find the, er, crime scene in the study, you can't miss it. The wall opens up a little further up on the right.

The old Victorian manor house was typical of similar such buildings in the area. It's room cavernous and cold, with high ceilings sporting delicate plaster work and intricate chandeliers. Roderek noted that the main hallway alone was almost big enough to fit Rodney's whole house into.

The two men stopped, stooping occasionally to gaze the grand mosaque floor tiles in the grand enterance hall, noting the various tell tale signs of different footprints, passing through or along the hallway.

As Roderek stooped to investigate one such foot print he heard Rodney take in a sharp intake of breath.

"I think you're going to want to have a look at this," said Rodney glancing back from the huge double doors that lead into the study.

Leaving the footprints in the hallway for the time being, Roderek paced over curiously to his old friend and gazed with him into the room beyond.

The study was like the rest of the Victorian house. The room was large and grand with high ceilings, tall imposing windows and intricately craved anteq furniture. Unlike the other rooms there was an abundance of dark, rich, wooden paneling on all the walls, which sat on top of an expensive looking patterned carpet.

A smell of musty old books and wood polish permeated the air, now heavily mingeled with the rusty pungent smell of dry blood.

A slight shiver stole over the two men as the gazed around the room, blood was almost everywhere, even tough the room was so large.

As Roderek strode carefully over towards the desk, a second cold shiver stole over him as a ghost image howved in view.

The Ministry officials had removed the body, or what little remained of it, but in it's place an illusionment charm had been cast, leaving ghostly shivering images of where the part of the body lay.

"I think I'm going to be sick," muttered Rodney mutedly, "Have you ever seen anything like this," he whispered hoarsly.

"Never," replied Roderek glibly, "and I have no desire to see anything like this again."

The ghostly shimmering remains of Nigellius Tyler where strune across the floor, like a doll that had been ripped apart and dragged across the room by some giant savage, evil dog.

By the large stately desk at the center of the room, the ghostly image of Tyler's lower body shimmered over a dark red pool of blood.

Thick red trains of blood stretched several feet across the fanciful patterned carpet, it's pools and streaks forming a gruesome pattern of it's own, as it stretched out like a bloody pathway to pale staring face and torso of Nigellius Tyler.

Blood seaped from the corners of his mouth and his dark, pale eyes stared up from his ghostly white face at Roderek. Locked in sightless vacant stare.

"This is so wrong," murmoured Rodney, "I know the man was a git, but this is wrong. Nobody wants to die but at least a killing curse is…" his voice tailed off. "It's just wrong." He added again mutely, and he shuffled off slowly inspecting the rest of the room.

Roderek wasn't sure how long they'd been in house, but it felt like hours, he tried his best to calmly analysis the room for every clue of movement as to what had happened, but both he caught himself and Rodney making fertive glances back the Tyler's ghostly remains. Who's agast gastly stare unsettled them, making it hard to work. Finally Rodney stood nodding him head and approached the balding pinstriped wizard.

"Ah, ready to make your report," piped the wizard, his spirits noticeably uplifted at the prospects of being able to leave the house and it's macabre images soon.

"Yes," said Rodney with a nod,

"So," continued the pinstriped wizard, "You are Rodney Palethorn, correct."

"I am," replied Rodney calmly,

"Good, so what's your report then? Let's start with the number of culprits say we? Then go on to the sequence of events." Rodney nodded, still looking a like muted he cleared his throat loudly, as if the boysterious sound cutting through the unpleasant silence of the room would give him back some of his characteristic confidence.

"Well," he started, "There was two of them. The first ones around 5'8", slight build, desk jockey type, like yourself," he added candidly,

"I beg your pardon?" replied the pinstriped wizard, looking a little surprised and taken about, "Desk jockey? 5'8"? What? How? You would have had to seen them to know that?"

"Oh," said Rodney, not seeming to notice the pinstriped wizard offended at being referred to as a 'desk jockey'.

"I can tell his height and build by his stride pattern and the depth of his foot prints in the carpet," he stated calmly,

"The first one has a light stride pattern, typical for you desk jockey types," The pinstriped wizards face clouded over further at this, even though Rodney appeared oblivious to the offense he was causing,

"Short narrow stride, walked rocking heel to toe. Oh that means he's not been taught how to sneak or move silently" he added,

"And the fact your sure he's a _desk jockey_?" fumed the pinstripe wizard,

"The shoes," replied Rodney matter-of-factly, "Solid sole, thin, no patterned grip on the underside. There's also a smudge of fresh black boot polish on the carpet over there, from when he dived on the floor during the fight. Only desk jockey wear those kinds of shoes and only desk jockeys polish them that often. Guess they have too much spare time on there hands," he added shrugging and gazing down nonchalantly at the pinstriped wizards shoes.

"And the second person?" inquired the pinstriped wizard, his face glowing red with agitated embarrassment, as he drew is highly polished shoes back further under his robes.

"Er, about 6'1" thick set, had some practice and sneaking but not pro," continued Rodney,

"And you know that how?" inquired the brooding pinstriped wizard,

"Well it's obvious isn't it," replied Rodney gazing surprisedly at the wizard,

"He was wear descent soft leather boots, but he still left tracks even a Mino like you could see,"

"A what!? A Mino?" snorted the pinstriped wizard,

"Oh, er, sorry," fumbled Rodney, "That's just our pet name for Ministry Officials down here," Rodney smiled awkwardly and the pinstriped wizard glared agrily for several long moments until the tension was broke by Sam giving a slight cough.

"Sequence of events Rodney?" offered Sam quietly,

"Oh, yes," stammered Rodney happy to change the subject, "Two of them, as I said, entered through the front door, sneaked, or rather did their best sneaking into here. Tyler must have surprised them, spells start flying every where and finally the eviscerate him." He finished.

"Very good," said the pinstriped wizard regaining his composure and finishing scribing the last of his notes on to the form. "Sign here please." Rodney took the large white quill and scralled his name at the bottom before stepping over to stand safely next to Sam.

"Right then," said the pinstriped wizard, "Mr. Roderek Dobson, is it?" asked the wizard now staring up at Roderek,

"That's right," replied Roderek taking a long last look around the room.

"And what is your report?" asked the wizard,

"Same as Rodney's," said Roderek still glancing around the room,

"Excellent," said the pinstriped wizard briskly, "Always a good sign when ever one agrees."

"The only thing is," added Roderek interrupting the pinstriped wizard, "The way the fight went doesn't make sense," Roderek felt several pairs of eyes, including Rodneys, focus sharply on him, "Oh, I'm not saying I disagree," added Roderek hastily, "I'm just saying something don't added up.

"Like what?" inquired the pinstriped wizard,

"The way the bloods spread across the room," said Roderek pointing to several location,

"From where they killed him, it just looks a little odd. Plus I think you Ministry officials took more than just the body out of here,"

"What on earth is that supposed to mean," retorted the pinstriped wizard flaring up again,

"There are papers missing from this desk," replied Roderek pointing to the table, "and vault doors been closed," he added pointing to the far wall, where a wide nondescript book case stood,

"So," retorted the pinstriped wizard, "The murders obviously took the papers and closed the vault door behind them."'

"The newspaper article said you found the vault door open," replied Roderek gazing a Fitzsimmonds, who nodded, "That's true, it was."

"And," added Roderek the pooling of the blood on the remain papers on this desk. The blood had congealed before the papers were moved, that means they had to be taken several hours _after_ Tyler was killed."

"Yes, alright, alright," shouted the pinstriped wizard, "I wasn't supposed to mention it, but there were potentially dangerous spells on the desk and dark artifacts in the vault. The Ministry removed the dangerous items and closed the vault to the ensure the safety of the remain items."

"But if you brought the papers back and put them on the desk, I could tell you more about how he was killed," protested Roderek, "I mean he was stood virtually right next to the desk, the pattern of blood across the papers would probably clear up the things I can't be sure about."

"Well you can't have them," snapped the pinstriped wizard,

"Look you both virtually agree on the major items of importance. Can you please just sign the report and let this be and end to it." Roderek shot a mutinus glance at the wizard and then gazed across at his father Sam. The wise old name was observing the pinstriped wizard quite calmly, but his usual shrewd gaze. He glanced across and Roderek and gave a slight nod, which Roderek knew to mean that he should not push the issue further.

Still fuming slightly, Roderek strode over and signed the Ministry officials form with an agitated flourish.

"Good," sighed the pinstriped official in relief, "Right then, third and final report, to be from your most senior tracker Mr. Kynaston. Kynaston," repeated the wizard with bemused look, "Where have I heard that name before? Oh well, never mind." He added, "Your report? You agree with your comrades I presume," he added, starting to copy the same notes down on a third form. He glanced up expectantly, but his expression dropped as the shadowy hood of Kynaston's cloak, shook slowly from side to side.

He somberly raised a scared hand and extending three fingers.

"What?"

Gasped Rodney stringing up from the wall he'd been leaning against. He and Roderek glanced desperately around the room, confused and worried that there was some obvious sign they had missed. Even Sam's expression changed subtly as he strode across the hall to where Kynaston stood.

Kynaston lent towards the old Harper and there was the sound of faint muttering words as Rodney now glanced up confusedly Roderek,

"I, I don't see it," he stammered, "I don't see any sign of a third person. Do you?" Roderek shock is head but the pair had little time to consider the matter further and Kynaston beconed the men up the corridor.

Glancing around, still searching for any tell-tale sign they may have missed, they followed Kynaston and Sam to the rear of the house and into a large open kitchen. Kynaston paused slowly raising a scared hand to point at marble counter beneath a tall window.

The two friends crotched squinting closely, and sure enough there was the very faintest imprint of a boot.

"I don't get it," murmoured Rodney glancing up, "These tall windows are fixed pane, only those small panels at the top open." Kynaston had already climbed up on to the marble worktop. He lent forward so the grey, stubbled, scarred chin was only inches from the glass and breathed out heavily.

For a moment, in the steam of Kynaston's breath, a single finger print appeared and then slowly disappeared from view once more.

"I agree with Rodney," said Roderek inspecting the glass pane and gazing at the window outside. It's so high up, and there's no scuffs or scrap marks showing where they climbed up. You'd have to have the agility of cat to stand a chance of pulling that off."

"Maybe there was another person outside who levitated the other up," mused Rodney, "If he'd been levitated they'd be no foot on the counter" muttered Roderek glancing around the room.

"Perhaps," whimpered the pin striped wizard, "It was he who must not be named? there are rumours he can fly," he glanced around the room in horror but as all eyes feel on to Sam he shook his head softly,

"No. The Dark Lord isn't the kind of person who'd lower himself to sneaking through a window at the back whilst his henchmen go in front the front, especially for a person of no exceptional magically skills like Tyler." He mused, "No, I think were looking for someone else."

"Well, who?" asked the pin striped wizard still, looking noticeable pale.

"It's funny," answered a low gruff voice, "That only _he_ spotted it," said Fitzsimmonds. Every stopped and stared. In rush of events, everyone had somehow forgotten the giant umbering, grey like shadow that was Fitzsimmonds. The sallow sunken eyes were fixed on Kynaston, the sneered that had adorned his face when Roderek had heard him muttering something to Kynaston as they entered had returned, coupled, now that he noticed it, with a deep loathing, welling in Fitzsimmond dark eyes.

Sam turned to calm they tower man, but Fitzsimmonds was intent on speaking his mind. "He's the best tracker there's been in centuries, and he can move without leaving a trace, none of your own Harpers could track him if he didn't want them to. Looks like just the kind of thing you were aquised of before Kynaston," boomed Fitzsimmonds, his low tone growing increasing fierce. "I knew you'd slip up and go back to your old ways one day. What's the matter, did your mysterious supply of money out? Did you decide the Dark Lord could protect you better than the Harpers, or are you just slowly showing your true colours?" He sneered heavily Kynaston, a bitter almost vicious glint in his dark sunken eyes.

The pin striped wizards eyes suddenly widened in comprehension "Your _that_ Kynaston," he murmoured, "I knew I recongised the name,"

"Now hold there," said Sam calmly yet assertively, "Lets not get carried away. Johanthan," said Sam addressing Fitzsimmonds, we've know each other for years and we went all through this to the statisfaction of the Wizengermot,

"Not to my satisifaction," boomed Fitzsimmonds, his eyes burning red with anger. He glanced down at Sam, "I've always respected you Samuel, and your judgement, on everything expect for this," he snapped gesturing at Kynaston, "He's one of them, he's rotten to the core," he sneered, "and this time I'm going to make sure he doesn't get away with it." And with final burning glare at Kynaston, he turned and stormed off.

"So, what am I to put in the report?" asked the pin striped wizard and muted confused tone.

"Kynaston's version," replied Sam, taking the form and signing it himself at the bottom, "I believe my signature there means that becomes the offical account of records." The pin striped wizard nodded, still looking a little lost and confused, "Very well," said Sam, "Then please excuse us, but we have some other urgent business to attend to." And with a flash of his cloak he too disappeared back down the corridor towards the front of the house, followed a few moments later by the shadowy figure of Kynaston, whom the Ministry official watched with round shocked looking eyes.

Roderek and Rodney exchanged glances, a little stunned themselves by the abruptness of Sam's leaving.

"Good day to you sir," nodded Roderek, gently leaping down off the marble counter and dragging Rodney out of the room behind him.

The two friends sped up the zig-zigging, jogging to catch up Sam, who walking at very brisk pace.

"I get it now," puffed Rodney as they came level with Sam, the blood looked out of place because the third person delivered the killing blow, from behind. He grined expectantly at Sam, but no smile or comment came back in reply. A feeling of confusing slipping over him again, Rodney glanced at Roderek and noticed he was watching Sam's face carefully,

"You didn't mention anything about the third person killing Tyler to the Ministry official," said Roderek under his breath,

"No, I didn't," replied Sam evenly,

"I also didn't mention those strange burn marks you both missed on the far wall,"

The group of men halted as the reached the main road.

"Dad, what's going on?" asked Roderek, his thick brow now twisted into a frown.

"I don't have time to explain right now boys," replied Sam, his swred contemplative look, now slowly being replaced by the familiar warm smile,

"I know that's doesn't sound fair but, to be honest I don't have all the answer myself right now. First I've got to get to the Ministry buildings in Salop town before Fitzsimmonds creates a problem where there should be one. Then I'll be heading down to London to get to the bottom of this." He paused gazing directly at Roderek, "I expect this is going to be a long day for me, so if you get a chance drop in and tell you mother not to wait up. I expect I'll be lucky to be back be before highwatch." He flashed a smile and winked at the two boys and with that turned on his heels and started striding purposefully up the road. There was a long pause broken only by the slightest of swishing noises and Kynaston, brandishing his cloak about him, set off down the road in the opposite direction, back toward the Harpers Groove, his large wolf like dog close at his heels as they stalked silently through the shadows.

"Well," said Rodney after another long pause, "I can safely say that I'm more confused now than I was this morning, if that's even possible."

"I know," mused Roderek, "But don't worry. You know dad, there's a lot of people who know and respect him down there. By tomorrow morning he'll find out what the Ministry is hiding."

"Oh and by the way," added Roderek, with a broad grin, "Since when did we start calling Ministry officials _Minos_?"


	10. Prelude

_**Prelude**_

It had been weeks since the break-in at the Ministry of Magic where Harry Potter and his friends had narrowly escaped death at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his followers. The Dark Lord had been prevented from obtaining the orb, which contained a vital prophecy, and many of the Death Eaters, who had escaped Akzaban, had been recaptured. Yet the victory had tasted anything but sweet.

In houses all around the country witches and wizards had woken to the horrifying news of the break-in, and with heavy hearts, were forced to accept the unbearable truth: The Dark Lord had returned.

An unnatural chill and constricting bleakness had settled upon the land. Every darkened alleyway and shadowy corner was now filled with the low mumbling of hushed whispers. Rumors now spread like the unnatural chill in the air—rumors about the Dark Lord and his ever-expanding army. Hushed voices spoke not just of Death Eaters and Dark Wizards but also of other dark and sinister creatures.

The news in the papers had been just as bleak. _The Daily Prophet_ had been awash with reports about the Ministry's numerous bumbling errors, each article making the Ministry look increasing weak and ill prepared to face the danger that threatened.

In their streets and homes, people wrestled with thoughts of what had happened the last time Voldemort had gained such power. The Dark Lord had been poised to drive the wizarding community into submission, yet they had all been spared this great catastrophe because of _the boy who lived_.

At the time, few had stopped to question what had happened. But now, many people gave the matter great thought. Whist Harry Potter had succeeded in thwarting the Dark Lord's plans at the Ministry, few drew strength from this knowledge. Harry was still just a boy—a boy possessed with some form of inhuman luck or perhaps protected by some special spell—and surely the Dark Lord, the greatest dark wizard of all time, would not make the same mistake twice.

What luck, or spell, could hope to prevail against the greatest dark wizard the world had ever known?

In the towns and villages across the land, those responsible for the protection and safety of others rushed from place to place, hurriedly making plans, preparing defenses, and hoping that their hard work would be enough to keep the Dark Lord and his followers from their doors.

In no place was this more the case than in the Stretton Vale, an ancient collection of hill-lined valleys that housed the largest collection of wizarding villages in the country. Their tiny settlements, which had existed since Roman times, were more fortunate than most because they retained their own protectors, a small band of wizards, known locally as the Harpers.


End file.
